Mad Girl's Love Song
by marry-me-a-little
Summary: It seemed simple. If his side came out of the war successful, he would marry a nice pureblood girl and live somewhere quiet. Sadly, things were never simple when they came to the Dark Lord. And Hermione Granger was certainly not in his plans.DM/HG.Post-DH
1. Leave my Body

**Summary: **Set-Post DH**. Non-Cannon. **After Voldemort successfully defeats Harry in the Battle for Hogwarts, the entire wizarding world is thrown into bedlam… Hermione Granger's life included. Her two best friends are dead, and worst of all she is captured as a prisoner of war and sentenced, as part of a sick plan conceived by Voldemort, to live as a concubine for none other than her childhood enemy, Draco Malfoy until the Death Eaters are ready to kill her. Will anything but pain come out of this terrible arrangement? Is all hope truly lost in the Wizarding World? A story about overcoming the past and finding beauty in the person that you least expect.

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**A/N: Inspired in part by the poem " Mad Girl's Love Song " by Sylvia Plath. **

**ALSO: This story is rated 'M'. If subject matter such as suicide, sexual abuse, or mature sexual content/ mature language bothers you, please don't say I didn't warn you! **

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, ex cetra, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

*^**^*^**^*^**^ _**Mad Girl's Love Song**_ *^**^*^**^*^**^

CHAPTER 1: Leave My Body

"**Goodnight room,**

**Goodnight moon,**

**Goodnight cow jumping over the moon**

**Goodnight light and the red balloon"**

**-Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown**

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The floor of the Great Hall was covered in blood.

It pooled underneath the feet of the enchanted armor, circled around the stone rubble that was once Hogwarts' grand staircase, and flooded Hermione's trainers.

The smell of blood filled Hermione's nostrils, but it didn't matter because she was running through the Great Hall with a ferocious intensity.

"ROOOONNN! ROOOOONN!" she bellowed as she propelled herself forward.

She spotted her red-headed companion across the giant Hall standing with his wand tight to his chest.

He couldn't see the Death Eater approaching him from the rear.

"ROOON!" she shouted. Her legs simply weren't moving fast enough.

She dodged sparks of red, green, and blue sprouting out from the wands of both members of the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort's followers as she attempted to reach Ron before the fast-approaching spell impacted him.

If Hermione knew anything from attending Hogwarts for six years, she _knew_ that when magic intended to cause pain, it does not know the difference between good people and evil people.

There was a _reason_ certain curses were considered 'unforgivable'.

When she finally reached her boyfriend, she pushed the palms of her blood-covered hands square on his chest and sent them both tumbling over.

The Killing Curse that was intended to hit the Weasley flew over them and hit an unsuspecting Death Eater a few feet away.

_Crisis averted…for now. _

"Blimey Herm-

"Ron, we have to get out of here and find Harry! Come on! Hurry!"

She began pulling herself up as a quivering Ron followed.

" I think he's alive, we just have to find him!" she exclaimed. It was five hours into the battle, and amidst the confusion the trio had become separated. . Morale was down, and things were not looking good for the Order.

Ron grabbed Hermione's shaking hand and the two ran out of the Great Hall, dodging and reflecting curses along the way.

The intensity of the war forced Hermione to swallow her emotions, but when she exited the main doors, the tears that she had wanted to shed for months finally spilled over, carving rivers in the grime that covered her cheeks.

As she surveyed the rubble shrouded in night's darkness, she was once again reminded that everything that she once knew was turning to _shit_. And there was nothing that she could do about it.

The school that once gave her entire life hope and purpose was littered with the bodies of her friends and classmates.

The blood of the 'mudbloods', the Death Eaters and the purebloods were mixing in together all over the halls that she once remembered. Yet all of the blood looked the same horrific dark shade of red.

Their best friend was the only person who could stop this.

They ran back through the main entrance, through the Great Hall and into the courtyard.

The sight that they met outside in the courtyard stopped the two young people in their tracks.

"The true master of the Elder Wand is Draco Malfoy." It was Harry who uttered those words; his eyes were bloodshot and his usually rumpled hair looked extremely haggard and filthy. He looked like the ghost of Hermione's childhood friend, as if finally, this terrible war had caught up to the courageous wizard.

"But does it matter?" a low and scaly voice started. Hermione would have been a fool to misread the obvious malevolent intent in Voldemort's voice as he circled Harry. The evil snake-like wizard's semi-human eyes were latched onto him, and his mouth twisted into a mocking smirk.

"Even if you are right Potter, it makes no difference to me."

Hermione had heard enough.

"Ron we have to do something," she hissed to her red-headed friend, squeezing his hand tighter.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do?" He retorted, catching her worried eyes. "If we make a scene we will be good as dead," He tilted his head towards the crowd of Death Eaters who were surrounding Harry and Voldemort's confrontation. "Neville just sliced the fucking snake, so Harry's got to do this to finish it off-"

"But what if he doesn't?" she interjected, pushing away Ron's dirty hands as he tried to silence her. "What if-"

"Merlin, Hermione, we have to let him do this on his own. It's the only way. Remember 'only one can live while the other survives'?"

He ignored her protests and quickly guided her behind a giant pillar so they could view the confrontation from a more concealed vantage point. They were oblivious to the grey pair of eyes that were following them from the tight semi-circle behind Voldemort.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" Harry's voice was shaky, almost a whisper. Hermione had to crane her neck to hear her friend. "Does the wand in in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does…I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

Hermione gasped.

It all made sense now. Draco Malfoy became the new master of the Elder Wand when he disarmed Dumbledore the night the headmaster died the year before. But ownership transferred to Harry as a result of the scuffle at Malfoy Manor, a fiery confrontation that resulted in the profanity that was permanently etched onto the milky white skin of her forearm and the death of the house-elf Dobby.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered next to her.

She held his hand tighter.

'Bloody hell' was right.

The sun suddenly appeared in the sill of the nearest window. It seemed to Hermione too cheerfully bright, ignorant of the circumstances.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort yelled, with a fury that sent chills down her spine. He raised his stolen wand directly at Harry and an unforgiving blast of green sparks poured out of the tip.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry roared in return, as a spark emerged out of the end of Draco Malfoy's wand.

The sparks met between the wizards like two colliding trains, powerful and deadly.

Even before Harry's lifeless body hit the ground, Hermione screamed and her knees folded underneath her as if they had been hit with a ton of bricks.

Voldemort thrust the unbeatable wand into the damp air in an act of swift, unparalleled glory.

It was done.

"I have defeated the GREAT HARRY POTTER!" The dark wizard let out a maleficent laugh that was soon echoed by the crowd of Death Eaters behind him.

As Voldemort continued with his victory speech, Ron had to grasp Hermione tightly in his arms to keep the brunette from screaming again.

"We have to DO something!" she whispered hotly as acid tears poured out of the corner of her eyes. "We have to KILL HIM! HE KILLED HARRY!"

"I know, I know! But what can we do? Most of the Order is dead, and now they are probably going to massacre the rest of us who survive! We will be hunted like cattle! If not today, then soon! And as for Voldemort, he can't even be destroyed unless Harry does it," He struggled to keep her down with him. She was inconsolable. "We have to find a way to get off the grounds so we can apparate and go into hiding-"

"No Ron, no! I'm not leaving until he is _dead_! After everything he did to us, I cannot believe you would be such a selfish prick that you would even _suggest_-"

She he knew was no longer listening when his mouth dropped open and his face transformed into a look of horror. His eyes were transfixed at the scene before them. The hordes of Voldemort's followers were jetting in every direction, trampling Harry's body, attacking the few hundred Order survivors, and searching for new prey.

Their semi-human leader stood in the middle of the raucous with a wide and crazed grin.

Hermione was certain that she never hated anyone as much as she did in that moment.

"Can we at least get the body?" she asked.

"We haven't got that kind of time-"

"I'm sure Harry didn't have the time to try save the Wizarding world, but he tried anyways," she snapped confidently, meeting her companion's eyes, which he soon lowered in defeat.

"Fine," he started reluctantly, balling the hand that wasn't clutching Hermione's into a tight fist. "But you will have to wait here while I-"

Hermione scuffed.

"Dammit, Hermione! I can't lose you too!"

"I'd rather be dead than leave all of this behind knowing that Harry died in vain. I want to help you! The three of us started this journey together on the train all those years ago, and we are going to end it for Harry today. _Together_."

It was Ron's turn to wipe hot tears from his eyes.

"Alright Hermione, but you stay behind me, and once we pick him up, I carry him the rest of the way."

She nodded and pulled out her wand.

Then, hands tightly interlaced, the two ill-fated companions emerged from behind their haven of the ancient column and into the commotion.

"Alright! Run!" Ron yelled, and they took off, cleaving between duels and diving over bodies of the dead from both sides of the battle.

Ron reached Harry first, sliding onto his knees and jumped toward the corpse of their childhood friend in one movement.

Perhaps that's why he didn't notice the flash of the green killing curse spiraling towards him.

The spell hit the side of his chest and toppled him over. It happened in a matter of seconds.

"RON NO!"

This was all a dream.

It had to be.

Even fate itself was not this cruel. At least, she thought it wasn't.

The world went silent.

The duels, the shouting, the distress over what had just happened in the Wizarding world, and the fear of what was going to happen all stopped being part of Hermione's conscious mind.

She couldn't hear the animalistic screams escaping her mouth, and she couldn't even breathe.

She threw her body over both of her friends and wept; the limbs of the living and the dead became intertwined in a beautiful mass of lost innocence.

She screamed their names; she always would love them and thanked Harry for being so brave. She thanked them for giving her a chance that day after they battled the troll in the bathroom and she thanked them for changing her life.

She was not ready to deal with this.

"Well look what we have here," a wicked voice mocked from above her.

She didn't move an inch. One arm was wrapped tightly around Harry, and the other hand was still interlocked with Ron's.

"What a beautifully tragic scene," the voice continued, letting out a sarcastic laugh, which was echoed by five or six other people. "The 'Boy Who Lived' and his reckless band of fools saying their last goodbyes how … noble. "

Hermione couldn't process Voldemort's words. She was studying the boys' faces, silently promising them that their lost ambitions, hopes, and dreams would not die with them. She vowed to live _for_ them now since she could no longer live _with_ them.

"No, more like Potter's mudblood little friend mourning the loss of two hapless fools!" Hermione ignored the growing laughter from the crowd behind her as she ran her dirt-covered fingers through her friends' hair.

"I thought the bitch was the brain of the bunch, but apparently I was incorrect. She's just as stupid as her dead mates. And apparently, deaf as well. " The voice's companions found this remark obnoxiously hilarious as they doubled over in bounds of laughter.

The evil voice paused and awaited her response, but she was wrapped in her own world, stroking Ron and Harry's emotionless faces, and gently pulling their eyelids down.

They almost looked asleep that way.

"Well, if you won't acknowledge me…" Voldemort raised his wand.

"Levicorpus," the voice said firmly and Hermione felt herself being pulled into mid-air. Her feet went first, gliding upwards like handle of a teacup being tipped over and slowly drained of its contents.

She fought the spell with every ounce of strength she had left, almost pulling the bodies of her deceased friends up into the air with her, but her arms were too sore from the battle, and, betraying her, Ron and Harry's lifeless hands slipped from her waning grasp.

She was then rotated 180 degrees, still upside down, to face her capturer, and ultimately her fate.

Voldemort's smile looked even more heinous from this new, twisted vantage point.

"Ahhh, much better little mudblood. You are to listen when someone speaks to you, or did your brute, blood-tainted parents not teach you any manners?"

Comparing Hermione's parents to animals sent Voldemort's supporters into stitches.

She did not say a word but just looked at him through heavy eyes for she felt so _numb_. The carnage and sudden abduction of innocence was too much, forcing her to shut down.

With a flick of the Elder Wand, Hermione found herself spinning upright, and her body was adjusted so that she faced Voldemort eye to eye.

Her face was tear-smeared and blotchy, but it betrayed no emotion.

She had none left to feel.

She just looked ahead with apathy that only a person who witnessed the foulest evil and pain in the world can muster.

Voldemort leaned closer to her face. She could feel his hot breath on his cheek. Despite the dead and decaying bodies surrounding them, the smell of death coming from him was insurmountable.

"I suppose we can let you die. Or murder you …or torture you to death. It's a shame the leader of the Weasley fertility clan murdered Bellatrix, she would have loved to finish what she started," with another flick of the stolen wand, Hermione's hand shot up in the air and the sleeve of her jacket rolled down to reveal her branded forearm to the Death Eaters.

The crowd erupted in laughter yet again.

"Never the matter, I think we may be able to have fun with this one," he chuckled lightly and in a move so completely unexpected, he reached a scaly talon and fingered a loose lock of her hair.

She snapped awake.

"YOU," her voice sounded rough, and foreign. It was someone else's. "VILE, VILE PIECE OF-"

Before she could finish her statement, the dark wizard flicked his wand and her mouth clamped shut.

She was livid by the time he brushed his hand over her cheek and slowly downward to trace her magically trapped lips.

"She is pretty, this one. I can see why Potter kept her around all this time. Even for a mudblood. No," he shook his bald head and looked as if he reached some sort of internal conclusion. "Killing this one would be expected, I think we should wait a little while. First, she will have to live knowing that everyone she cares for is dead, then I think we should assign her a situation that she will loathe more with each passing day. Preferably one that will make use of all her… attributes," Voldemort's eye slits narrowed into a shape of almost lust, as he interlocked another clawed finger into her brown curls.

Bile started to charge up Hermione's sore throat and her eyes pleaded with the monster.

_No, just let me die. _

"I think this sort of punishment would prove best for the little bitch. Think of it," his slits widened in excitement. "Potter's bookish little chum reduced to a whore for the enemy. It would be the last stab! He would roll in his grave - well-" Voldemort's head tilted as he eyed Harry's lifeless body. "That is if we decide to even give him a grave."

The Death Eaters nodded and grunted in agreement. Hermione strained to break through the spell, but she barely moved as her fate was sealed before her.

"Excellent," Voldemort explained, moving away from her to face his horde of followers that remained behind him.

"Now we just need to decide who will do the honors! Any takers?"

Now that Voldemort moved out of her line of vision, Hermione's eyes were glued to the sky, watching the angry sun glare down at her from a cloudless sky.

She suddenly went back to feeling numb.

"No takers? Oh dear, I might have been wrong," He quickly turned to the levitated witch and cast her brief, creepy smile. "Blood does indeed run thicker than looks. Well then, I shall just assign her to one of you fools."

His beady eyes searched the crowd swiftly.

The vomit continued to charge up her throat.

She couldn't breathe. Her vision became blurred and as an involuntary surge of tears was currently clouding her vision.

Yet somehow, her emotional numbness refused to give way to physical pain.

_Its not supposed to happen like this. _

"Oh I have a wonderful idea!" Voldemort cried. He twisted his demi-face into a caricature of excitement. "Lucius! Bring the boy!"

Despite the light murmur of discontent that spread throughout the crowd and a loud gasp of protest from a female, the sound of robes shuffling indicated that the crowd had indeed parted as three pairs of reluctant feet moved forward.

The Malfoys.

Hermione lowered her weary eyes, and, for a brief second, her eyes met Draco Malfoy's.

And suddenly she understood what was going to happen to her.

But for that brief second her fate didn't matter.

Because Draco Malfoy looked utterly terrified.

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**A/N: Read and review please! ****Thanks to arosesinnocence for beta-ing!**


	2. Drumming Song

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

CHAPTER 2: Drumming Song

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid…because I'm not myself you see."

-Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

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It would be an understatement to assert that Draco Malfoy was having a _rough_ year. Over the last year, his life was hollow and generally filled with madness. Things were not looking good for him, or good for his family.

Frist of all, he came close to being murdered sixteen or seventeen times in the past year including, but not limited to, being incinerated in the Room of Requirement, hexed to death in the Battle of Hogwarts and, his personal favorite, as a result of his actions in the astronomy tower, being subjected to hours' worth of the Cruiciatus by the Dark Lord himself. But amidst all these close calls, Draco Malfoy had still managed to save his own skin.

But that didn't necessarily mean that life couldn't get worse.

Because it was. His life and his family continued to fall apart as, the inky black scull that graced his forearm grew darker and more ominous.

Everything in his life had been ruined since he became a 'real' Death Eater, but he couldn't tell anyone about it. He was supposed to be happy that he was given the huge responsibility of killing Dumbledore, but the fucking-big secret was that he wasn't happy with the task. He actually wasn't even happy with himself.

Honestly, since that fated night in the tower a year ago, he had been questioning what being happy even meant. But of course, he couldn't tell anyone about _that _either. It seemed like such a feminine and trite thing to be occupied with, not simply because it was a time of war, but because Malfoys didn't discuss those sort of matters aloud.

There was an unspoken agreement in the household that everything was always fine and everything was always going to be fine.

That's just how it was.

Regardless, the blond Slytherin's parents were a bit…tied up, during the weeks leading up to the Battle for Hogwarts. With the Dark Lord occupying their manor as his headquarters and likewise using every free opportunity to further emasculate and humiliate his father, there was no place for Draco among any of these complicated undertakings.

So he did what he knew best: stayed out of everyone's way unless necessary. He had been doing that sort of thing his entire life; with his parents as a child when they became occupied with something more interesting than him, with Pansy Parkinson when her sexual advances became predictable and irritable, and during his last year at Hogwarts, when the weight of what he had been chosen to do became so unbearable that the thought of human company made him feel physically sick.

He didn't want to piss off the Dark Lord any more than he already had, and he certainly didn't want to be called for any more missions. There is only so much failure that one man could take and still be able to look at himself in the mirror.

And at times when he felt at his absolute lowest, he would sit at the edge of his bed, and his mind would somehow find its way to the dying Dumbledore's last words to him the year before.

_…I can help you. _

_Come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer… _

What if he _had_ accepted the old loon's proposal and joined the ranks of all the people he was taught to hate, and the cause which he was supposed to believe was futile?

It would mean having to deal with the Dark Lord's rage and working with the fucking dead-brain Gryffindor threesome along with the pauper Weasley clan.

But at least he wouldn't have to be _here_, in the manor, living under Voldemort's thumb and constantly having to battle that seemingly immutable hollow feeling.

When thoughts like this invaded Draco's mind, he always caught himself before they went too far, and then quickly chided himself for becoming such a pansy in the past year. No fucking way he was going to skip out on his family. No fucking way. Anyways, he made a silent decision that there would be no more lifestyle changes or undertaking of massive responsibilities on his part.

If his side came out of the war successful, he would take care of his mother, marry a nice pureblood girl and live somewhere peaceful and quiet. It seemed like a simple enough plan to Draco.

But unfortunately, things were never simple when they came to the Dark Lord.

So he really shouldn't have been all that surprised when he chose Draco for what he did.

But just like when he was assigned to murder the Hogwart's headmaster, Draco was completely shot off-guard by how quickly the Dark Lord could make a decision that would alter his life, and ultimately change his plans.

And Hermione "mudblood" Granger was certainly _not_ in Draco Malfoy's plans.

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"Lucius! Bring the boy!"

Draco's mouth went dry.

His mother let out a loud gasp next to him and clamped a dainty hand over her chapped lips.

His father, who was shaking to Draco's right, gulped nervously and looked conflicted for a brief moment before allowing fear to get the better of him and began moving forward.

When he realized that his wife and son's feet were both planted firmly to the ground behind him and were not following his lead as he had presumed, he turned sharply and grabbed Draco by the sleeve of his robes.

"NOW," Lucius hissed at them, his eyes almost resembling the old version of his father, a man who was in control of family, in control of his life.

Despite the fact Narcissa looked stunned and nauseated, she blinked back tears and quickly used the back of her hand to wipe sweat off her forehead.

"Come Draco," she whispered, placing a warm hand over the back of his elbow and giving her son a reassuring squeeze.

Though he detested admitting it, there was something about his mother's soft tone in times of great trouble that helped Draco calm down when his emotions were skyrocketing. She was not the perfect mother, perhaps not even a competent one, but she understood him to some degree and in that moment, she was the only person who could have got him to start moving his feet.

The family began their uneasy stretch to the front of the mob of dark wizards whereGranger's levitated form and the Dark Lord were waiting.

Draco fought to keep his eyes down in order to avoid the looks of disapproval radiating from his fellow Death Eaters. He was afraid they would be able to see his fear played across his ashen features and that they would be able to gauge any sign of weakness.

When they finally reached the front of the crowd, Draco's head had begun to throb, and the fear of the Dark Lord's sick intentions suddenly hit him with unparalleled force.

_Dammit. _

This was not good.

Sure Potter was dead, and it was very likely that the Order was finished for good, but he couldn't understand why the Dark Lord wouldn't just kill the mudblood. Though he hated to admit it, she _was_ one of the Order's most brilliant members, and she was probably the most likely out of any of the survivors to find a way to put the fallen organization back together. Keeping her alive would only create trouble for the Death Eaters.

But on the same note, Draco could not help but admire the Dark Lord's intuition when it came to deciding the punishment for her. If any female on the entire planet was designed to be a…well, concubine, to put it nicely, it was Granger. She seemed the sort of independent, bookish, asexual person who would abhor that kind of thing and wouldn't even know what to do with herself in such a position.

But of course, the reason that made Draco the most uneasy was the fact that Voldemort had given the girl to _him_ of all people. First of all, the Malfoys had presumed that in the 'New Wizarding World Order' all people of tainted magical blood would be hunted. Keeping the mudblood around would not exactly be in line with all of those plans. Secondly, and most importantly, Draco could not do what his leader asked him to do, for the second time, because the thought of even breathing the same air as Granger made him feel queasy, and the possibility of touching her made him feel like vomiting.

This was not in his plans.

As he thought these things over, he felt a burning urge to look up at Granger. It was spontaneous and foolhardy, yet too powerful to refuse. As soon as he did it, he regretted the impulsive move.

All of the emotions he had been trying to shield from the world were written across his face, and in the instant that he met her blank brown eyes, he realized that she had seen them all: the anxiety, the pain, the sorrow, the confusion, and even the disgust. He reluctantly realized that this was the first time in the past year, if not ever, that another living soul had seen what he had been hiding behind his mask.

She had seen_ all_ of him.

And he didn't like it one bit.

Just as quickly as he looked up at her, he averted his grey eyes and met Voldemort's silts before he could even process what had just happened between him and the mudblood.

Lucius bowed before him nervously.

"Well," Voldemort started, smiling again. " I think that Mr. Malfoy should take the girl. This goes without saying that he owes me a private debt for hiscataclysmic failures," he paused while the crowd roared with laughter.

Draco felt rage bubble in his chest and a sudden urge to pull out his wand and hex Voldemort. He was then reminded that his wand was currently laying a few feet away on the ground next to Potter's dead body. There was no getting to it without passing through Voldemort.

_Wonderful. _

"From what I hear, Draco, she isn't exactly fond of you. Odd, though… you're such a … charming," at this he sneered, "young man. No matter – I've chosen you for the honor of exacting the perfect revenge against the mudblood: forcing her to serve her worst enemy as a slave for-"

"My Lord," Narcissa choked, her words rushed and whispered. "Draco isn't exactly _fond _of the muggle-born girl either, so maybe it would be wise to allow someone else to do the…err…honors?" She squeezed Draco's elbow tighter. "And obviously," she lowered her blue eyes in order to watch her words carefully.

"There is the question of _blood_. It wouldn't be proper for him, at such a young age, to _keep _a girl around for such a thing, especially one who had such close ties to Potter and comes from such an _unclean_ background."

Voldemort stared at the nervous witch briefly before yet smiling again.

The Death Eaters behind the Malfoys broke out in laughter and Voldemort broke into a lopsided smirk. "Narcissa, he is not a little boy anymore! Don't be in denial about him. I have some very reliable sources that tell me he has a propensity for scouting out _many_ pretty girls at Hogwarts, and I can assure you, Mrs. Malfoy, they don't go out knitting together."

Draco felt his face flush and the urge to harm his leader became stronger then ever. For some reason, he didn't like the thought of him announcing his sexual conquests in front of all the Death Eaters, in front of his parents…in front of Granger, even though he was pretty sure she was only half paying attention to the entire conversation.

That was none of their business.

"This is not a punishment! This is a reward! To your family for staying true to me even when Severus Snape found that simple task undoable," Voldemort continued. "What growing boy wouldn't want such a pretty girl locked up for pleasure? However, in light of your reservations about the girl's blood, I herby make a new decree!"

"From here on out, beasts and magical beings of less-desirable blood including mudbloods, centaurs, and half-breeds, can be kept as slaves for wizards of superior blood or members of my following and may be used for_ any means _thepure wizard or witch deems necessary. The undesirables must first all be registered, then, after they prove themselves human enough to be accepted as slaves, they can be assigned positions by us as to their punishment."

The entire crowd applauded at their leader's first established law as ruler of the 'new' Wizarding World, yet Draco remained still.

He realized that his mother was not going to be able to talk him out of this one.

"Are you satisfied now Narcissa?" Voldemort asked, lowering his wand and moving closer to the unsettled blonde witch. "Does that answer the question of blood? I'm not asking him to _marry_ her just have a little fun with her, and he will only have to keep her for a few months. And then when she is driven mad, we will be sure she is laying next to her friends on the ground there."

The crowd let out a surge of laughter so loud that Draco felt the urge to slam his hands against his ears.

If he thought he felt like vomiting before, he was certain that he would now.

Hurting another human being in the way the Dark Lord expected was completely foreign to the Slytherin, and doing that to Granger of all fucking people, seemed impossible and sickening.

"My Lord," Narcissa started again, understanding what was expected of her son, her voice shaking, "Are you sure, there is no other way to punish the girl? Draco would be happy to torture her-"

"NO!" the Dark Lord yelled angrily. Everyone in the crowd knew this emotion well. He had reached his breaking point. "Don't you understand? I am not _asking _you to take her. I not giving Draco a choice! I am _telling_ you that _she is his_ until I feel she is sufficiently punished for her deeds and ready to be disposed of! Do I make myself clear, or does one always have to threaten your family with death to make you lot competent?"

"My Lord," Lucius suddenly came alive. He had been quiet the entire time due to fear and bad standing with Voldemort. "I think what Narcissa means to say is that he will be very honored to take on the responsibility. Draco will be sure to make her remaining time most …uncomfortable." He then bowed embarrassingly low before Voldemort.

Draco almost scuffed. He was damn sure that this impending situation would be much more than 'most uncomfortable' for both him and Granger.

Voldemort looked considerably less agitated. In a swift move, he reached up towards Granger's floating body and clasped her pale face in his hand. She looked like a rag doll, limp and weak with no control of her limbs. Though the dark wizard pushed Granger's face uncomfortably close to Draco's, her eyes did not meet his for the second time. She stared emotionlessly at a point behind Draco. "She is such a pretty girl, wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

He fought not to laugh bitterly at the irony that this was the first time he was addressed in a conversation that completely surrounded his own life.

He knew he was supposed to agree, but he hesitated. He wasn't sure if his delay was due to his hatred for Granger or something else, something more sinister.

"Yes, my Lord," he said quietly without really believing his words. Merlin, he didn't even think of her as attractive, quite the opposite, with her bushy hair and know-it-all smirk, how was he supposed to...

"Well then it's settled-"

"My Lord," a huge blond Death Eater appeared from outside the castle and ran up to Voldemort, interrupting his speech of finality. "There appears to be some retreating members of the Order escaping the castle grounds."

Voldemort threw his head back in laughter.

"Well I suppose we must attend to them," he pointed to about half of the crowd. "You all come with me. The rest of you, start cleaning up all this mess. I can't have _my _school looking like this anymore. If you find any survivors round them up and bring them to the Great Hall. And none of you touch Potter's body unless you are prepared to die. I will do the honors of disposing of that myself. Ahh… and you." he turned to Granger's floating body and flicked his wand. She fell to the ground instantly as if she was filled with stones. Draco found himself craning his neck to catch the expression on her face, but her eyes were closed, and she looked asleep, peaceful, almost, in comparison to the wreckage that surrounded her.

Voldemort shot the Malfoys one last knowing smirk that indicated he would be watching and followed the blond wizard outside the courtyard.

Draco and Narcissa remained still as Voldemort's followers dispersed themselves in various directions to clean up the carnage. Even Lucius cast an anxious glance at his son, then at Granger's frail body and mumbled something about wanting to help and excused himself from his family's side.

Narcissa sighed.

"Draco," she whispered. "I am so sorry." Tears were welling up in her eyes. "I didn't mean for this to happen-"

"And you think I did?" Draco couldn't hide the frustration in his voice and he ignored his mother's flinch in response to his abrasive tone. "Is he fucking mental? Does he really think that I would ever, in a million fucking years lower myself to-"

"Shhh…keep your voice down. Someone could hear us…He could come back!"

"I don't give a fuck if he comes back!" Draco hissed, letting the moment of courage fill his deflated ego. "I would never, never, never-"

"Can't you see he will murder you if you don't-"

"I don't care!"

"Lets just take her home with us, and we can figure out something from there. Just not out here," Draco had to keep his feet planted in order to physically stop himself from interrupting his mother. "We can find a solution to all of this if we just take the time and think it through. We all aren't in our right minds right now after the battle-"

"Him especially!" He roared, glancing over at Granger's fallen body. His gut lurched with disgust.

"Now you listen Draco, and you listen carefully," his mother was using the firm and authoritative tone she only used when she was very frustrated with him or she sincerely wanted him to shut the fuck up and pay attention. "A few hours ago, I wasn't even sure you were alive. I almost left the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest to look for you. And now you are permitted to live, despite everything that our family has done to put ourselves out of favor with him, he has given us one last task to accomplish. Albeit an unfavorable task, but the least we can do is bring her back and decide what we are going to do with her. The Dark Lord has given us the greatest gift imaginable. _Time_. Time to figure all of this out and time to work our way up. If we watch ourselves carefully, we may be able to get her taken off our hands and you may not even need to lay a hand on her."

He sighed in defeat. If she could find a way to get rid of Granger without him having to touch her, he was in.

"Good boy," she said happily, reaching up and stroking his face. "Now, fetch your wand so we can apparate out of here with the girl."

"What about Lucius? " Draco asked. In the past year he had taken to calling his father only by his first name.

Narcissa's beautiful face hardened. "I'm sure he will find his way back," she spat sarcastically.

Draco nodded and swallowed his protest.

He moved away from Narcissa and slowly approached Potter.

With his eyes closed, Potter looked rather peaceful for someone who had just been killed by the greatest wizard of all time. His glasses were cracked and twisted with tiny shards of glass sprinkled a few feet away where he had met his end. His black, matted hair looked to Draco to be particularly unruly in death. Instead of feeling the expected surge of hatred boil in his chest, or even relief that his childhood enemy had died, he felt something else. Something that felt identical to _sorrow_ shoved at Draco's throat, but he swallowed it down hard and pushed it aside. The feeling almost resurfaced once he glanced over at Weasley's body which the mudblood positioned adjacent to Potter's, but he tried his best not to let it win.

_I went to school with them._

_We played Quidditch together. _

_We were the same age. _

For some reason, he felt like he owed Potter something, perhaps a goodbye, or a reassurance that he would take care of Granger-

Merlin, his mother was right. The weight of the battle was indeed playing tricks on his mind. He needed to clear his head.

So instead he whispered to Potter, "Better luck next time." and gently pulled his wand from the ground beside the Gryffindor.

Seemed like the kind of thing everyone would expect him to say.

"Alright Draco. Lets go," Narcissa called as he shot the bodies of fallen members of Gryffindor's Golden team one last glance and rejoined his mother's side.

"It appears the Dark Lord has placed a sleeping spell on her when he dropped her, but she will only be sedated for a while. We have to hurry to the manor before she gets up, I don't reckon she will be too pleased."

Draco nodded and reached for his mother's hand, as she put the other carefully on the mudblood's knee; only enough physical contact that was necessary to apparate her.

And then, with a loud crack their wary figures dissolved from the battleground.

.

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

_The Great Hall looked absolutely opulent. _

_Emerald and red tinsel hung from the doors and the windows of the ancient Hall in beautiful patterns that enhanced the enchanted ceiling, which displayed the summer's setting sun. The floors were enchanted a delightful light turquoise color that gave the large room a feeling of calm and peace. It was like being at the beach on Christmas. The comfortable Hogwarts students seemed to be involved in their own private worlds, couples swaying in happy, lazy circles to the soft rhythmic music playing from behind Dumbledore's old podium, excited fifth year girls clumped in groups of six or seven whispering about attractive boys and who had the prettiest dress, and cheerful house elves scurrying through the light crowd of students with silver trays offering sweets and small cakes. _

_Hermione grinned to herself. _

_It was the perfect night for a ball. _

_She smoothed down her satin periwinkle dress for the fifth time and reached up to adjust her magically-perfected curls. She knew she looked better than usual, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough to impress Ron. Would he ever stop seeing her as just a friend? _

_She looked around the crowd until she caught a glimpse of Ron's trademark fiery red hair and exhaled one last time before making her way over. _

_To her surprise, when he noticed her approaching, instead of continuing his conversation with Dean and Neville, he turned to her and he gave her a curious look that indicated she had every ounce of his attention._

_She suddenly felt her face grow hot and subconsciously reached up to adjust the neckline of her dress. Maybe she looked strange to him with such a low cut outfit. _

_Hermione felt oddly exposed. _

_"Blimey…" his words were slow and careful. Hermione had never heard Ron speak to her like he was now. Or look at her the way he was looking at her now, with uninhibited eyes that had a raw, dangerous hunger lingering behind them. "You look… wow." _

_After pausing at the top slit of her dress, he carefully moved his ravenous gaze to her face. She felt something flicker inside her, a hunger of her own that thumped against her throat and slowly burned below her abdomen. She never felt like this before. _

_"Do you want to dance?" he asked quietly, although he was already placing a large, warm hand against the back of her dress just above her buttocks. She felt the light burn below in response. _

_"Err…yeah," she whispered, leaning into his touch and positioning her hands behind his neck. _

_Ron latched his other hand to her side and pulled her close, so that their bodies were touching. He smelled wonderful; he had a woodsy, beach spray aroma that made her feel right at home in his arms. _

_She didn't know if it was that damned smell, or the fact that he was holding her so tightly, but she sighed and buried her face into the soft nape of his neck, with her chin pressed against his firm chest. She had to adjust herself to her full height to accomplish this, but when she did, she didn't regret the decision for a minute. _

_Merlin. _

_She really had gone mad._

_Ron exhaled a contented sigh and let his hands slip lower against her satin dress. She didn't even think to stop him this time. _

_Encouraged by her receptive attitude, he lowered his head and placed soft kisses on the top of her head. _

_Hermione was sure she never felt as happy as she did in that moment. _

_"You look stunning tonight," he whispered into her curls._

_"Hmm…" she mumbled in return. _

_She felt so safe in his arms. She needed to show him how much he meant to her. She needed to do what she had wanted to do for years. She needed to kiss him. _

_She peeled her head off of his warm chest, with her body still tight up against his own. _

_"Ron…I…" she started awkwardly, taking one hand off his back and nervously brushing a lose curl behind her ear. "I just want to let you know-" _

_In a bold move she looked up to view his face but instead of feeling the embarrassing flush she did whenever she made eye contact with him, she felt absolute terror. _

_Because though she expected to look up at Ron's hungry gaze, she found herself instead, looking up at the pointy, smirking face of Draco Malfoy. _

_"Well, well, well… What do we have here?" he whispered sleekly. _

_Her eyes filled with terror as she tried to escape his arms, which felt more like a muggle straight jacket then a warm cocoon, as Ron's body had. _

_"Looks like our pretty mudblood friend has been walking around the castle at night. We can't have that, can we," he chided, lowering his face to hers. _

_She tried to scream, but not a sound escaped. _

_Voldemort had sealed her lips shut. _

_She balled her lose hand into a fist and banged it against his face to stop him from getting closer. _

_The entire setting began morphing with Draco's appearance. Her beautiful dress became a jumper, trainers, and jeans that were all slathered in sweat, blood, and dirt. Her cuts and wounds from the battle remerged and her 'mudblood' scar crept back onto her skin. The students vanished into the air like waning patronuses and the decorations from the Ball were swallowed up by blackness. _

_It was just she and Draco now. _

_No please, not me, anyone but me._

_Let me die. _

_She couldn't even scream as her fist was magically restrained and Malfoy leaned in to kiss her…_

* * *

><p>And that's where the horrid dream led her, awake in a cold sweat, with her clothes pasted to her back. Her head was throbbing unforgivingly and all of her limbs felt sore and ridged.<p>

For how long had she been asleep?

Hermione went to touch her face, but halted when she felt the fabric she was laying on. She knew something was wrong.

The sheets felt silky and unfamiliar.

She reluctantly peeled open her eyes and blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision. It took a fair amount of energy just to push the heavy layers of comforters and silk sheets off and sit up in bed. Her whole body felt like it weighed as much as a hippogriff's.

The bed was massive and had a gaudy canopy which made it look like it belonged in some witch's housekeeping magazine, and not intended for actual people to sleep in.

Her post-nightmare sweat was becoming unbearable, so she began pulling her jean jacket off.

Merlin, when did she first put this on?

_Shit. _

All the events of the past week came flooding into her sleepy mind like a powerful river through the cracks over a broken dam.

She groaned as she let lingering fatigue take her, and slid back into the silky mass of Slytherin-green pillows and sheets.

She'd rather be locked up in dream-Draco Malfoy's steel arms then have to face what her life had become.

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* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**A/N: I hoped you enjoyed it! This chapter came out really quickly because I'm on break and have a lot of free time on my hands to write. **

**Thank you all who reviewed last chapter I really appreciate it! Again any questions, feel free to ask me. **

**Thanks to 'arosesinnocence' for beta-ing and being patient with me! **

**Please Review! Thank you guys :D**


	3. Seven Devils

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

CHAPTER 3: Seven Devils

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

-To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Two and a half days.

Two and a half days since Voldemort won the war.

Two and a half days since Lucius decided to show his sorry arse at the Malfoy manor.

Two and a half days since Granger woke up.

Things were hovering in an anticlimactic standstill that was becoming utterly depressing to Draco. But like most things in his life, there wasn't much he could really do about it.

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the cold, grey marble of the massive dinning room table.

He was sitting alone.

The fifteen empty chairs of the unnecessarily large table seemed to mock him with the false promise of company. But he was sure that no one was coming.

The Dark Lord relocated his headquarters to Hogwarts, which in some ways was a good thing because the thousands of unwelcome houseguests weren't around to pester him, but even they never stopped him from feeling lonely. Lonelier than he liked to admit.

He couldn't understand why, but through all of this, the person he felt the most upset with was Granger.

He was not sure exactly what he expected from her, or how he imagined her to behave, regarding the …circumstances, but there was something that stirred in his chest when he thought about the fact that she had been sleeping for the past two and a half days, refusing to wake up or talk to him. It didn't really make sense why he was so upset about it, but he just was.

He tried to convince himself that he wanted her awake because he needed to discuss with her how they were going to go about their complicated _predicament_, but deep inside he knew there was an underlying reason that he wanted her to wake from her seemingly endless post-battle slumber.

Maybe it was because he felt the need to put all of the complicated frustrations he was currently feeling on another living being, preferably one that was such an easy target. And with Granger, he had a history burdening her with his unwanted …_emotions, _for lack of a better word. At Hogwarts, whenever things became frustrating or anger-provoking in his own life, he sometimes found himself seeking out the bushy-haired Gryffindor for a quick row or sharp exchange of insults. Though he had been raised to believe it was completely insane to actively seek anything from someone of such blood status, there were times at Hogwarts when the irrational urge to attack the mudblood with an angry continuous string of insults became so overwhelming that Draco had to head back to the Slytherin dungeons early some nights to avoid searching the halls frantically for the Golden Trio.

But even if he was making her life miserable, it didn't matter because at the end of the day she was still a fucking Mudblood; thus, she deserved every insult he, or any of his former cronies threw her way.

That was probably why he had been fuming the past few days. The thought of her being so _close _and yet he was not able to yell at her for the results of the battle, or about anything at all made him beyond furious.

_Fuck her… _

The princess of the Golden Trio was entitled to get her fucking beauty rest while he sat around fruitlessly battling his demons. It wasn't fair.

_Didn't she understand the seriousness of the situation Voldemort had put them in? _

_Didn't she get that both of them were in this shit hole together? _

But fuming was as far as he was willing to go. There was no way in hell _he_ was going to enter the guest bedroom across the hall and try to wake her up.

Even his mother sent the bloody house elf in once or twice to confirm that Granger was still breathing in her sleep, yet the proud blonde witch had no intentions of entering the room herself.

Draco continued drumming his fingers against the table, as his mother walked in.

"Merlin, Draco! I didn't see you there," a pacing Narcissa exclaimed, throwing her hand over her chest, when she finally noticed him sitting at the table in isolation.

He nodded at her curtly yet didn't move his gaze.

"Well, I've been meaning to speak with you," she continued awkwardly, sensing her son's standoffish mood. "About the girl."

He turned his head sharply to look at her.

"What about her?" he asked harshly, trying unsuccessfully to make it sound as if he wasn't just thinking about her seconds before.

"Well," Narcissa started, attempting to remain poised as she fumbled into the dinning room chair directly across from him. "I think I've come up with something so that you can avoid having to…_interact_ with her in the way the Dark Lord is expecting you to."

He was listening now.

"We can use a Confundus charm on her, if she ever gets up," he said under his breath, disguising his smirk with a twitch of his lips.

"No Draco," Narcissa sighed. He had never seen her look this tired in his life. "Though that would be incredibly convenient for all of us, I have a more plausible solution. We are going to _convince _the girl to tell the Dark Lord that you are doing what he is asking of you-"

"How the fuck-"

"_Listen" _Narcissa interrupted. "We get her to tell the Dark Lord what he wants to hear, that way you don't have to touch her, but you can still avoid his displeasure-"

"Right, so basically we go up to the mudblood, who absolutely hates me mind you, and say, 'Hey there, Granger! I know you hate me, and I hate you, but since the Dark Lord, who you and your dead mates have been trying to stop for the past seven fucking years, says I've got to shag you or die, do you mind telling him a little lie about our relationship so you can save my arse? Maybe tell him that I forced you a couple of times? Just for kicks? Don't worry little mudblood, you'll be dead soon enough so it doesn't even matter-"

"Draco-"

"No! Please mother, she has corrupt blood, not a corrupt mind. That will never work with her. She will never lie on my behalf! And not to the Dark Lord either. What reason does she have to help me?"

"Maybe if you gave her a reason –"

Draco let out a terse laugh that resembled a bark. "Right, mother. The only things I can imagine doing to possibly make her change her mind about me, are if I apologized for being truthful to her about how unclean her blood is after all these years, helped her put the sodding Order back together, or brought the wanker trio back to life. Anyway, what don't you understand about her having _nothing_ to gain from lying for us? She is most likely upstairs in the guestroom right now, making a calendar of how long she has left on Earth. I know how this bitch is- she probably doesn't even have the capacity to lie. And like I said before, she has no reason to lie for me of all sodding people!"

He felt himself growing hot with rage, but recoiled slightly when he saw the dejected look on his mother's beautiful face. Regardless of how passionate he got on certain matters, seeing his mother hurt made a part of him, albeit a small part, settle down in uneasy shame.

"Well," he started again in a low, impatient voice. "What exactly is your mighty plan to bring her to understanding?"

There was a crisp silence between the two wizards.

Narcissa eyed her son apprehensively, no doubt trying to gauge how steadfastly he was to listening to her plan.

"I think we should take care of the girl."

"What exactly do you mean by 'take care-"

"I just think we have to wait a while, naturally, before we ask her to do anything for you, but we can start with gaining her trust in the next few weeks by making sure she eats, sleeps properly, goes for a bath, and doesn't go mental in here."

"Well obviously, we can't deprive her of basic necessities and kill her when the Dark Lord made it fairly clear that he wants her all in one … _damaged_ piece," Draco retorted, averting his gaze and staring at his fingers.

"Another large part, I believe, of getting her to trust you is _you_ being civil to _her_-"

"What the fuck do you mean by 'civil'?"

"Well, I am well aware that your relationship at Hogwarts was, _choppy_, to say the least, but what better way to get her to change her opinion of you than to treat her without disdain; meaning no arguments, quarrels, or insults-"

"Impossible," he said firmly, shaking his head.

"No, not _impossible,_ Draco. Even if that means _me_ dealing with her and you sitting back and keeping your mouth shut. She will eventually notice your civility, then all we have to do is frame her elaborating the details of your relationship as a win-win-situation for both of you, and before you know it, she is off to be slaughtered."

"So, dare I ask, how exactly are supposed to 'frame her elaborating the details of our relationship as a win-win situation?"

"Well," Narcissa started, avoiding his grey eyes. "I doubt that she will be ecstatic to have any sort of relationship with you at all, and less ecstatic to be any man's property, so to speak, and she will eagerly pounce on any opportunity to avoid _degradation_ by your hands. But only after you prove to her that you don't despise her well-"

"Oh, that is just simply marvelous because _I do _despise her well-being with every fiber of my body, and if the war was any indication-"

"Well then," she interrupted. "I might be speaking to deaf ears when I say this last piece, but I think I will try anyways. I know what is stopping you. All_ you_ see is the know-it-all mudblood bitch. To get her to trust you, and eventually_ lie_ on your behalf, you have to see her as a girl who just lost everything. In a few short days, she's lost her school, her best friends, her cause, and her entire life. If you treat her like a person who has been broken, you might be able to gain her empathy and eventually her trust."

Narcissa's words left an uncomfortably candid feeling in the air of the large room.

Never in his life had he heard his mother say such straightforward words about someone hailing from a lower blood status, and yet sound so sincere.

Much like the effects of Dumbledore's last words on the blond wizard, he realized that his mother's comments about Granger would stick in his mind long after the conversation was over.

_…You have to see her as a girl who just lost everything. In a few short days, she's lost her school, her best friends, her cause, and her entire life… She is broken. _

Perhaps they were just words. Perhaps they were more than that.

Draco sighed.

"It seems simple enough to me," Narcissa said, trying to hide her triumphant Malfoy smirk after sensing her son's waning resistance. "When she gets up, we treat her like a house guest, attend to what she needs and make it clear that there will be no 'unwanted relations' for now. And you will be a gentleman. The word 'mudblood' nor any other derogatory label will escape your mouth for the time being. "

"Merlin mother, all this sounds more like a command than a mutual agreement," Draco said sarcastically as he begun to stand up.

"Take it as you will."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Lucius Malfoy stumbled out of the fireplace and into the Malfoy Manor's parlor three hours later.

He looked terrible.

Soot and dust covered his face and twisted thoroughly into his long white hair. He looked exhausted and his breath smelled suspiciously of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

"You should have stayed where you were. You should not have come back," Narcissa said coldly, not bothering to look up from her propaganda filled copy of the Daily Prophet. According to Rita Seeker, the Dark Lord's reign was going just swimmingly.

Draco, who was sitting in front of the parlor's massive organ, looked up and snarled at his father.

"Well I see you two are happy to see me," Lucius said sarcastically, attempting to straighten out his disheveled robes. "Don't worry Narcissa, I received your owl the other day and I am more than happy to agree with your terms. Its not like I'm interested in being around all of this embarrassing commotion anyways."

Draco turned to his mother.

_What owl? _

"You always _were_ worried about appearances. And I am sure out there, our family looks like fools; a psycho dead in the war, an over-bearing mother who constantly tries to wipe her son's arse, two hapless and unreliable Death Eaters, and a son who is assigned to rape a muggle-born girl. I can completely understand why being part of this family is no longer of use to you, " Narcissa replied, trying very hard to keep her voice steady. Amazingly, she did not look up from the paper.

"You're leaving us?" Draco demanded, standing up so quickly that the organ's chair fell over and hit the silver tiles with a loud 'clank'.

"I'm not here to speak to you, I'm here for Draco," Lucius said, still addressing his wife.

"I'm here right now! Speak!"

"In private," said Lucius, giving the younger wizard an unfamiliar look and motioned with his cane-free hand for him to accompany him into the sunroom.

Draco angrily followed behind him, reaching the room first due to his long stride.

He stormed in front of his father, and for the first time in a long time, they were eye to eye.

"What the fuck is she talking about? 'This family is no longer of use to you-"

"Never mind that now Draco, we haven't got time," Lucius began frantically rummaging through his robes until he eventually pulled out a tiny vial filled with a rosy pink liquid.

"You're leaving my mum and you-"

"Shut up boy and listen!" Lucius roared suddenly, holding the vial up to Draco's face.

Draco straightened his spine and stared directly at his father.

_What was he playing at? _

_After everything Narcissa did for him, he was just…leaving. Especially now, when all this was happening with Granger…_

"This potion is called Osculum Diaboli. Do you see it?"

"Well obviously Lucius. Its in my fucking face-"

"No cheek today boy, just listen. Your mother should be kicking me out any minute now," his father continued, lowering the vial.

Draco had to bite on his tongue hard to keep himself from interrupting him again.

"This potion induces sexual desire, do you understand? Any person who drinks this potion will become extremely sexually driven to fornicate with the wizard or witch who slips it to them for a number of hours."

Draco blinked in response and opened his mouth to spit out a retort, but Lucius carried on in a hurried whisper.

"If things don't go as planned with the mudblood, you slip her two drops of this potion into her drink and all the Dark Lord's wishes come true. I know that you are not capable of that kind of violence-"

"You have no idea what I'm capable of-"

"Right," Lucius interjected sarcastically. "I'm just trying to do what your poor mother is probably attempting right now- saving your arse. There is no way you can get away with not sleeping with the girl, so better she have the desire, than for you to do something that you regret."

"Well this is lovely and all, and the thought of Granger willingly bedding me gives me butterflies, but I'm sorry to inform you that we already have a plan that makes a lot more sense and doesn't involve me laying a hand on her," the younger wizard announced, taking a step back.

His father rolled his eyes, and shoved the vial into Draco's unwilling hand.

"Whatever helps you two sleep at night," he said glancing nervously over his shoulder. "When your little plan falls through, at least you have back up. I don't think you understand how serious the Dark Lord is about this girl's punishment. If she isn't punished, then _you will be_. "

His words hung in the air as silence seeped in.

Draco tightened his hand around the vile. For some reason, he didn't try to give it back to Lucius.

"Don't tell anyone else about this," he whispered. And without a goodbye, he disappeared into the dark hallway.

Draco didn't even have time to process what just happened, because minutes after his father stormed away, the infuriating house elf came into the sunroom with a message.

Granger was awake.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Some say that pain gets better with time, but in this case, things seemed to work in reverse. Her first few days awake in the Malfoy manor were like the calm before the storm, the silence before the end of the world, a haunting whisper that came before a beautiful unraveling.

It freighted Draco to his core.

Her silence. Her solitude. Her distance.

Maybe his mother was right. Maybe Granger was indeed broken.

She sat mutely at the head of the table, where his father used to sit, and stared at the place set before her. She was still wearing the pants, jacket and jumper she wore during the battle. Blood and dirt matted her pale face and the back of her jeans.

She looked awful.

She appeared sub-human almost, as if the old Granger had been dug out from underneath her skull and the only thing remaining was the shattered pieces.

Broken.

She did not respond to Narcissa's attempts to converse with her, and she didn't look at Draco at all. There was no way to even tell if she knew about Voldemort's plan. She didn't seem to even desire to be awake.

"Are you hungry?" the older witch asked Granger nervously.

Draco stood leaning against the doorframe watching the two women from the darkness of the hallway.

Granger's face did not shift from its blank expression. The palm of her right hand was flat against the table. She was slowly picking it up and observing the moist outline of her fingers on the black marble.

She would place her hand firmly against the table, lift it up slowly and stare at her sweat stain until it disappeared. Then she would do it again. It was like a child learning to walk and becoming preoccupied with the seemingly uncomplicated task.

It was as if she was learning what life was all over again.

"Maybe some toast, would you like that?" his mother asked attempting to keep her voice steady for the second time that day. It was like talking to someone who was deaf. Granger made no indication that she even heard her speak.

"Sonny!" Narcissa called.

The Malfoy's family house-elf, Sonny (Dobby's replacement) appeared in the dinning room.

"Get her something to eat," she commanded the creature, flinging Granger's still profile a weary look.

If he thought seeing Hermione's bloodshot eyes after she woke up was haunting, watching the elf cut her food into little pieces and slowly place them into her mouth was somewhere beyond that.

Granger chewed and swallowed each piece slowly as if she was simply twitching her jaw, not focused on eating at all. She did not look at the elf or the plate, she just continued pressing her palm to the table and lifting it up.

But he did not speak a word.

Draco's thoughts drifted to his fourth year at Hogwarts, when she started her annoying program, S.P.A.W.N or whatever, to save the house-elves. The irritating Granger he knew would protest the enslavement of the stupid creatures at every opportunity. She didn't say a thing about the elf that was slowly prying oven her jaw and fluttering pieces of buttered toast into it. The irony of the entire situation was almost comical. Almost.

Narcissa left the room after awhile, and on her way out, she gave Draco a look that indicated now would be a good time to try getting on Granger's good side.

He sighed in protest before whispering sharply, "This isn't over yet. You have some explaining to do about what happened today with Lucius."

She nodded.

Draco felt awkward as he walked out of the shadows and into the low, eerie green light of the dinning room. He stood directly across the table from where she was sitting.

His face suddenly began growing hot with unexplainable embarrassment. All the anger he felt towards her earlier while he was sitting at that very table seemed to evaporate when he looked at her. Certainly, if they were both at Hogwarts he would have yelled at her, but things were so different now. He could feel the change in the air and see it on her emotionless face. Insulting her _now _was out of the question. Plus, he had his mother's plan to think of.

"Granger," he said quietly. It was a statement. A noun, a word spoken into the dimly lit room that meant nothing. He was not asking her a question. He didn't want anything. He just said her name.

To his surprise, she flinched at the sound of his voice.

_Ahh…now they were getting somewhere. _

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black trousers. So she _had _heard the conversation between the Dark Lord and the Malfoys while she was levitated. Maybe she thought that Draco was going to hurt her.

Apart from the flinch, she made no other indication that she even noticed his existence because she still didn't turn her brown eyes to him. Rather she continued observing the fading moist outline of her slim fingers on the cold marble.

"I…errr…I think you…maybe it is better if I could…" Merlin, he was a bumbling twat.

What the fuck was he going to say to her?

Words were not enough.

So instead he sat down. They were directly across from each other, yet on different planets.

He sat there with her, watching her eat slowly and ignore his presence with extreme concentration. He did it on the first day, the second and the third day after she woke up.

Draco realized that for the two days she was asleep and during the three days she was awake, Granger hadn't bathed, brushed her teeth or even changed her clothes.

The elf would feed her and Draco would sit directly across from her, observing her blank, hopeless face.

Every moment he sat with her, all his urges to insult her for her blood and stupidity seemed to fizzle into the dry manor air. Of course, his prejudices were still inside of him, pacing under his skin, making up the very fabric that held his being together, but for that hour each day, he kept them to himself.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Later that third night, his mother cornered him en route to his bedroom.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, I think that its time that she had a bath-"

"Why are you telling me this? That has nothing to do with-"

"Draco-"

"Get the bloody house elf to do it, she's the only one she somewhat acknowledges-"

"Obviously, the elf can assist her if that is necessary, but I think that you need to be the one to talk her into it, since she hasn't done it on her own accord so far. Seriously Draco, she has been wearing the same clothes from the first day. They are filthy and she is beginning to smell…_unpleasant_, to say the least."

"Why me?" Draco asked, silently cursing Salazar Slytherin for putting him in this predicament.

_ I have to spend my time convincing depressed, mute Granger to go for a bath? If this is what the goddamn world has come to, maybe the Order was better off winning the war. _

Draco pushed the thought away swiftly and chided himself for being stupid enough to even consider such an absurd idea.

"Because, remember," Narcissa started, lowering her voice to a sharp whisper. "We are trying to get on her good side-"

"Right now she doesn't exactly have a 'good side', she's just a bag of bones."

"That shouldn't be so unfamiliar to you then."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Narcissa ignored his question with a tilt of her head.

"She is in mourning and doesn't know what to do with herself. Mark my words, when she snaps out of it, she will be a completely different person."

She started to walk away but Draco stopped her by grabbing her forearm.

"What do you mean by the feeling being "unfamiliar" to me?"

She looked directly at him.

"Last year, I think you also wanted someone to reach out to _you_, but you didn't know how to go about asking for it."

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Draco clenched his fist for the fifth time in a pre-knock stance.

_Merlin, he was acting like such a wanker. _

The fear that started growing in his chest when he approached Granger's door was nonsensical.

Why was he so afraid to talk to her?

It wasn't like she was even going to talk back. Just sit there and look lost.

He lowered his hand and pressed his forehead against the center of the guest bedroom door, shutting his eyes.

Why did she always have to be so difficult? Why couldn't she see that they all lost something in the war?

The war resulted in the murder of many of his Slytherin friends and not to mention all the current drama with his father.

Why did Granger always have to make everything about her?

He spent fifteen more pathetic minutes leaning against the door like a mad man before forcing himself to knock lightly.

No reply.

_Of course fucking not. _

"Alright Granger, I'm coming in, so I hope you're…err…well just be ready for it," he called inanely, pulling the engraved door handle open.

His eyes skimmed the room. There was a small fire waning in the fireplace. Everything else looked untouched, the massive bed was in the same location, and even the bookshelves filled with unreadable ancient magical history volumes looked to be in the same Malfoy-perfect condition they were in before.

If Draco was unsure if she had gone mental, the untouched books acted as a confirmation.

He started to take strides towards the adjourning bathroom, but he tripped over something solid.

It felt like a mini boulder.

"Merlin, fuck!" he cursed loudly, reaching down to grasp his throbbing toes.

When he looked down to see what had rudely constructed his path, he realized that it was in fact _not_ a rock, but Granger herself, curled up in a blue blanket.

She looked pitiful and filthy.

He held back a second profanity when he realized for the first time since she work up three days prior, Granger was looking directly at him.

Something at the bottom of his gut flipped unwillingly at her stare.

She looked almost worried, which was a good change from the numbness.

"Err..hey," he said lamely, pressing his throbbing foot back onto the carpet.

He clumsily squatted before her so that their faces were about a foot apart.

"How are you feeling? I…err… think maybe you need to start doing some things, you know, to get all the stuff off your mind, maybe it could do you some good."

Amazingly, she did not avoid his eyes. Actually, she was starting at him with a look of intrigue mixed with fear.

This new emotion encouraged Draco to go further.

"Yeah, maybe you can start by going for a bath-"

At the word 'bath' her whole demeanor changed instantly.

She shot up and started to move away from him backwards, with a look of absolute fear on her face.

Draco's stomach plummeted and he wrinkled his brow in confusion.

_What was she on about?_

"I mean it's just a suggestion. You haven't bathed since…you know, and my mum's got robes for you and everything."

The more he spoke, the more terrified she looked. She used the bed for support with standing up and slowly inched to the opposite side of the emerald covered piece of furniture.

She was now on the opposite side of the room as him.

Draco frowned. He was tired of being nice.

"Why are you-" he started, before it hit him. She thought-

_Oh Christ no. _

"Oh Granger, don't be silly, if I haven't tried anything yet why would I start now?"

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she still looked fearful.

"I meant you take a bath, _on your own." _

She lowered her eyes, and a wavy lock of bushy brown hair fell from behind her ear, covering her eye.

Draco swallowed.

"I was just thinking that maybe, after you washed up a bit, you would like to get some fresh air and all, you know, you could walk around the grounds and see around the manor if you like. After all, last time you were here was not so pleas-"

He stopped himself and bit his tongue.

He could really be such an idiot sometimes. Obviously, making a lame joke related to her being tortured by his deceased aunt was stupid. It was like opening up a cage of irritated Cornish Pixies. The incident represented everything that was currently chewing away at her life.

Merlin.

"So, the loo is over there," he nodded to the door. "And my mother left some robes for you in the bathroom. If you need er…assistance or anything, Sonny the house-elf can help you out. When you're done, like I said, maybe you can go for a walk around the grounds."

He felt rather dumb standing there as she started at him in response.

Seconds passed by before she did something so unexpected Draco almost gasped in surprise.

Pushing the springy lock of brown hair behind her ear, she turned away from him and slowly entered the bathroom, letting a small 'click' follow behind her.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

They walked in silence, (as expected) across the Malfoy's lawn, with a reasonable amount of space between them.

Granger kept looking up at the sculptures and trees, her brown eyes taking it all in. She certainly didn't look bored to Draco, but she didn't look cheerful either. Narcissa's robes where too big for her and dragged behind her in the dirt.

"Right, so…err, that's Salazar Slytherin next to the willow tree over there," he instructed, even though he was sure she of all people recognized the sculpture of the haughty looking wizard who stood proudly by the tree. It was, after all, a replica of the very one that was on the grounds of Hogwarts.

He didn't know why he insisted on narrating their pointless little tour, but he did anyways. Though she wasn't responding, he knew, somehow, he was cracking away at her armor. After all, she _did _concede to bathing, and she followed him outside.

He walked with her aimlessly for about an hour that day. To his astonishment, she did not pace away from him or sit blankly in one spot. She walked with him.

Perhaps it was just her Gryffindor curiosity getting the better of her sprit. Perhaps she was assuaged by Draco's promise that he wouldn't 'try anything'. Perhaps it was the pure fact that the moping was becoming redundant.

Whatever the reason was, he would soon wish for her to go back to being lifeless.

Because when Hermione finally spoke, Draco realized that she was more than aware of the 'situation' they were in, and she was not sad about it at all.

She was fucking pissed off. But that was okay, because he was too.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**A/N: Greetings from West Africa! I'm on vacation right now visiting my crazy family but I wrote this chapter right before I left. When I tried to put it up before I went to the airport, my Internet at home was acting stupid so I thought I was going to have to wait to get home to upload it. But alas! My aunt over here has internet now so as they say over here: Praise God O! **

**So this is my present to you guys for being awesome and reviewing.**

**Thanks to 'arosesinnocence' for beta-ing and being patient with me! **

**And can I just say I love awkward Draco in this chapter? What is the poor guy supposed to do? He doesn't know how to handle her emotions…yet lol.**


	4. Hospital Beds

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

CHAPTER 4: Hospital Beds

"Pangloss deceived me cruelly when he said that all is for the best in the world."

- _Candide_ by Voltaire

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Hermione reached down to scratch the dry skin of her inner thigh. Her movements were slow and deliberate.

She certainly did not feel like going to class today**. **_Herbology with the Ravenclaws?_

"_No thank you," _she thought whimsically, and smiled to herself. The delicious feeling of disobedience warmed her icy fingertips and flushed her beaten cheeks. She lived for the days when she got to skip classes and stay in bed.

Even bright students needed their mental health days.

But it was not like she would be missing anything particularly important; she had read ahead and already knew all the information that would appear on the N.E.W.T.s.

So no worry. Missing one day of class wouldn't kill her. Anyway, if she missed any paramount notes, Harry could-

Hermione's heart bended recklessly in her chest. It started pumping furiously and she felt involuntary tears of rage well up in her eyes. They burned the back of her closed eyelids so painfully that Hermione thought they might leave a scar. Her throat went dry as sluggish bile begun trudging upwards.

Harry couldn't take notes for her. He was dead.

Ron was also dead.

Ginny, Neville, Molly, Luna, Hagrid, Seamus, McGonagall**, **and Dean could all be dead as well. She just didn't know.

Hogwarts was destroyed, and Voldemort had won the war. Everything in the wizarding world now belonged to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

All creatures and wizards of lower blood status would either be killed or taken as slaves.

The prophecy predicted only two outcomes to the war, and with Harry's death, it had been fulfilled in the most horrifying way possible.

Her parent's memories were altered to forget her existence and she doubted that she would ever see them again.

She would never finish her Hogwarts education.

Voldemort destroyed her wand.

Her heart gave a painful lurch as she reminded herself of the most horrific part of the entire ordeal.

She tried her best not to think about it, not to think about _him_. But it was impossible.

Her fate was wrapped quite uncomfortably in Draco Malfoy's cold, unforgiving hands. There was no escaping, no reconciliation, no hope left for her. She was going to be degraded; violated, and stripped of whatever fragile innocence she had left by her worst enemy. Then he was going to kill her.

Her head began throbbing mercilessly.

She was completely powerless. Utterly useless as a witch…as a human being.

She didn't know if she was supposed to grieve for all that she had lost in those few short hours or grieve for what was coming.

There was no book that held the answers to how to approach this sort of all-encompassing pain.

So instead, Hermione lay frozen in the bed, with the palm of her right hand against the cool surface of the silk fitted sheet underneath her. She was wearing a baggy blue nightshirt that wasn't hers. The rough cotton of the sleep robes irritated the skin of her lower back and the bruised flesh of her collarbone. She had no idea what time it was. The room was swallowed by a haunting blackness. The only light came from the dying orange embers in the fireplace that sat opposite of the large bed.

She slowly sat up to observe her surroundings. The room was about half the size of the dormitory she shared with her classmates last year, which was still, she believed, to be unnecessarily large for a bedroom. There were two massive, bow-shaped windows on the wall opposite the fireplace, that were drawn shut by a an ancient-looking pair of emerald green drapes that were covered in a organized, symmetrical pattern of silver diamond shapes. The marble fireplace was raised off the ground by a small polished cobblestone step that was guarded off from the rest of the bedroom by a miniature gold cage. The sprawling, plush carpet held the same pattern as both the drapes and the suffocating top comforter sheets. The sheets themselves seemed to seal in all heat, which was probably necessary considering how cold the Manor was at night. On the other side of the room, a cushy and antique-looking loveseat stood proudly by one of the largest bookshelves that Hermione had ever seen, rivaling only one of the library's 'restricted section' cases. It was obviously carefully crafted; each inch that made up the shelf appeared to be a created by a wizard who attended closely to detail. It extended from the sleek carpet until it brushed the ceiling, the wings of the two hippogriffs statues that were carved into the top of the ebony wood, peaking against the gold tiles of the ceiling. Multi-colored leather-bound volumes of wizarding books were packed carefully into each shelf, with opposing snow-white bookends of hippogriffs that matched the top of the bookshelf pressed against the historic works. It was beautiful.

Hermione shifted in her spot.

The four poster, king sized bed was like a larger version of the one she slept in at Hogwarts, with a silk, forest green bed skirt that fell gracefully against the soft carpet. The inky black wood of the bed matched the color of the extravagant bookshelf. The four engraved rods supported showy stormy grey curtains that were drawn back by gold colored ropes. It was so dark in the room that they looked like floating nooses in the firelight.

Opposite the bed was a door with yet another engraved door handle that Hermione knew to be the bathroom.

Maybe it was night. Maybe it was noon. She tried for about half an hour to detach herself from her chaotic thoughts, but like poison infecting a blood stream, they continued to invade the hidden recesses of her mind, pushing at barriers, with no sign of stopping until they consumed every bit of her.

The first three days after she woke, Hermione found herself in a sort of debilitating shock. Like the dejected ghosts that once wandered the corridors of her former school, it was like she existed without really existing. All the anger she felt during the battle when she heard Voldemort give her to the Malfoys dissolved. Instead, when she awoke from her slumber, which was plagued by nightmares, apathy replaced the sorrow and the wrath. She couldn't think about Harry or Ron or anything that happened to her. She was in a daze. And originally, it seemed that the Malfoys were in no hurry to pull her out of that daze. Particularly Draco. Regardless, they both tried to speak to her. Their words were muffled and incoherent. Hermione chose not to hear them, and no to feel them. She barely met their eyes during the first few days. Hermione thought of trees and wild waterfalls, of magic and the various colors it produced, of dreams and wishes. Sometimes of nothing at all.

She wouldn't let Draco Malfoy, of all people, see the content of her nightmares written across her face. If he was going to hurt her like Voldemort promised he would, he would have to take her while she was dispassionate and distant, not when she was the Hermione he knew- fiery and testy. Actually, she was not quite sure if there was any of that girl left in her anymore. She barricaded thoughts of her past, present, and future. She wouldn't let herself break. She wouldn't let Draco Malfoy in.

Hermione had to protect herself somehow.

She spent those three days in the secure fortress of the bed or sitting silently at the Malfoy's dinner table. A delightful house-elf helped her support herself when she crawled out of bed, no matter what time of the day or night it was. When she vomited the contents of her stomach onto the floor beside the bed on the first day, it was the house-elf who brushed the sweaty hair off her forehead when she was finished. He tore pieces of toast, biscuits, or crepes into even smaller parts and fed her like an infant during meals. In retrospect, he seemed more human to her than the Malfoys, especially Draco.

It was Draco who watched her during those speechless meals; his grey eyes shielded under the cover of the blue darkness in the dining room. It seemed to infiltrate the rest of the manor as well – every room she entered was shrouded in dark blue shadow.

She was certain that he was going to rape her. However, Hermione spent a great deal of energy trying not to think about it. Perhaps it was easier to push all thoughts away than face the inevitable. A part of her was actually surprised he hadn't gone ahead and done what he needed to do while she was asleep. He seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed taking the easy way out of things. So, Hermione had made it even easier for him. Raping a girl in a trance was equivalent to raping a girl asleep. Either way, with her spirit already broken, there was nothing for her to lose.

But… he didn't rape her. Not on the first day, or the second. He sat with her while she ate, and she avoided his eyes. He was so unattached that Hermione began to think that he had forgotten about her. Almost.

It wasn't until she heard the hesitant tapping on the bedroom door on the third day that Hermione realized Malfoy was not going to let her rot inside between the four walls of the guest bedroom of the manor as she had begun to hope.

When he uneasily pulled the door handle open that day and entered the room, Hermione was currently wrapped in a blanket on the floor.

Unwanted thoughts of Ron's laugh, which once annoyed her, echoed in her ear unexpectedly. In order to shield herself from the unwelcome melody, Hermione grabbed a blanket and curled up on the bedroom floor. She brought the dark blue fabric of the blanket over her ears. When Draco came in, she was still crouched in this position, and she barley had time to adjust when he accidently kicked her in her side.

Though his face was wrinkled in annoyance and his eyes were averted to his right foot, the one that he kicked her with, she got her second good look at the man to whom her fate belonged since their spontaneous yet intense exchange during the battle.

She had forgotten how grey his eyes truly were. They were a luminous silver hue and had a dark stony rim of concentrated color that reminded Hermione of the ashen stones that made up the Hogwarts castle. They looked almost out of place compared to his icy features, as if he should have had blue eyes to match his pale skin and blond hair. His eyelashes were almost as light as his hair, and were unusually long for a male. His pointy nose looked much smaller up close and his pale lips looked slightly thinner then she expected they would be. His face was long and oval-shaped, he had Lucius' chin, and he had high, pronounced cheekbones. The low firelight reflected off of his hair, which appeared more ruffled than it did at Hogwarts, particularly at the back of his head, where the fine hairs stood erect and muffled, resembling a lopsided crown. In fact, he looked quite terrible indeed.

There were dark bags under his eyes, and worry lines were splattered across his face and brow. Draco was one of the tallest boys at Hogwarts, yet now he walked slightly hunched over; the difference was so subtle. If possible, his porcelain skin looked paler and his body looked slimmer. It was obvious to her that Draco was very stressed about something. Something was eating away at him.

But that didn't matter because in that moment she knew why he came into her room. She knew exactly what he was coming for. Her grace period was over.

Hermione felt worry seep through her veins, and her facial expression changed to match her mounting fear. She chided herself for wasting time observing Malfoy's facial features while he was planning to force himself on her.

Her heartbeat sped up as Malfoy began saying something inaudible in his nasally baritone voice. For some reason, the Slytherin sounded nervous. He then crouched forward so that their faces were close. She felt bile rise in her throat.

From this angle, she could see a slight scar tracing from the edge of his lip and ending just below his left cheekbone. It was indiscernible to the human eye unless one was near enough to his face. It folded as he spoke, bending to the right and constricting every time he opened his mouth.

She didn't want to be this close to another person. Not this close to _him._

She thought she could handle him forcing her if she blocked out all of her emotions like she had done the past few days, but she was wrong.

Seeing him like this, in such proximity, made this real.

There was only so much harm a nightmare or hypothetical Draco could do to her. The living, breathing form of the wizard was much more of a threat. When he was this close, she could see where his worry lines began and ended, she could feel the cool bursts of air slip stealthily from between his lips and curl against her dirt-covered nose, and she could smell faded vanilla emanating from his body. He was much bigger than she. Her exhausted and malnourished body would be no match for his long, capable limbs. And on top of that, she didn't have her wand. There was no way she could compete with the real monster.

"Yeah, and maybe you can start by going for a bath-"

Hermione felt her body react to his words instantly. She had to get away from him. Her dormant Gryffindor spirit snapped alive and her legs pulled her weak body upright. Her hands began shaking as she took quick steps backwards. Her head started to throb because it was the quickest movement she had made since the Battle of Hogwarts, and her body was not physically ready for such a dramatic change of pace. As she backed away from him, her eyes focused on his legs, as to not make eye contact out of fear, searching for any movement indicating he'd follow her. When the back of her legs tapped against the bed frame, she inched to the right until she reached an open space and continued to increase the distance between her and the wizard facing her.

She was so engrossed in her own terror that she initially didn't notice the confused look on Draco's face or the fact that he did not start cornering her as she assumed he would.

He said something inaudible to her, which was met by silence.

"Oh Granger, don't be silly, if I hadn't tried anything yet, why would I start now?"

She felt her insides harden. She wished fleetingly that she didn't understand what he meant. But she did.

Saying it aloud made the situation tangible. By Draco verbally acknowledging the reality of what Voldemort assigned him to do to her, she realized that there was no turning back now. Even if he promised he would not touch her, the fact that they both understood what their relationship was supposed to be represented a massive turn of events. There would be no time to grieve for Harry or Ron, or anything else she lost. If she wanted to remain alive, she would have to deal with Draco Malfoy. And if he wanted to stay alive, he would have to deal with her.

Now it made sense why he seemed to be sparing her humiliation. She would have to play along to survive.

So when he asked her hesitantly to accompany him for a tour of the manor's grounds, she silently surrendered. Maybe if she did what he asked long enough, he would leave her alone. Even so, she was still half-emerged in her post-war trance to critically weigh her options.

That is how she found herself now, beginning to feel the need to critically weigh her options, yet not fully back to herself yet, wrapped in the unfamiliar sheets and Narcissa's old clothing, more confused than ever.

What was Draco planning?

What was going to happen to her?

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Draco rotated the vial between his thumb and his middle finger for the twenty-fifth time. The pink liquid rushed from one end of the potion container to the next, leaving a trail of heart shaped bubbles in its wake. Instead of a lid, a miniature porcelain cream colored swan stood proudly with its wings extended. Osculum Diaboli.

According to Draco's sixth-year potion book, the Swedes developed a lust potion that was outlawed by the International Wizarding Potion Committee in 1898 after an Irish wizard was found keeping fourteen witches, four of whom he was related to, and a Spanish wizard trapped in his basement, injecting all of them with ample amounts of the potion on a regular basis in order to feed his insatiable sexual appetite. How Lucius got his greasy hands on such a rare and illegal brew was amazing. Draco didn't even want to know.

He twisted the vial as an unwanted image of Granger's ghostly face invaded his concentration.

"Fuck," he said aloud into his empty bedroom.

The awkwardness he felt during their walk was well on the way to dissolving. The old Draco was coming back.

Since that day, she kept to herself, only coming out to eat, sometimes so late at night that he went full days without seeing her. He did the math. Day one, the Battle of Hogwarts. On days two and three, Granger slept while he moped. From days four through six, Granger woke up, ate, showered, and walked through the garden with him. And on days seven and eight, Granger ignored everyone. That made just about seven days since he was assigned to her.

He wished his concept of time passing did not revolve around her. He needed to stop thinking about her.

Unfortunately, the 'Granger situation' was not one that operated on a simple 'out of sight, out of mind' basis. She was plaguing his thoughts. He tried to tell himself it was because he needed her around to impress her with his practiced kindness in order to get her to lie for him to the Dark Lord, but he knew there was another reason. One he did not feel comfortable admitting to himself. After their tour, her presence started becoming… familiar to say the least.

The problem was that there was no deadline for when Voldemort was going to kill her; thus, no deadline for when he was supposed to gain her trust. _But there was always the potion..._

_NO. _

He immediately stopped rotating the vial and set it firmly on his desk.

That was out of the question.

He would rather vomit slugs like Weasley in second year, or fuck a rabid banshee than _ever consider_… _No_.

He folded his hands and set them on this desk inches away from the vial.

He was going to have to do something, and fast, to get Granger out of her trance, because he was not sure how much time they had left. He needed to stop himself before he got desperate and started acting irrational.

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><p>.<p>

He was walking out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom a week later when it happened.

He was absent-mindedly (and a bit ironically) thinking about his birthday, which was only a couple of weeks away, and planning ways to get away from the manor. Draco even considered asking his mother if there was any way he could start looking for some sort of employment. He felt that he was becoming touched, being locked up in the manor with Granger constantly on his mind.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't see her standing in the darkness of the hallway, under a portrait of his great-great-great grandfather. He didn't see her eyes watching him, waiting for his next move from where she was standing. He didn't hear her bedroom door open or the creak of the ancient manor floors as she tapped her bare feet against the cold hardwood.

He was almost at his door when he heard a muffled sound that sounded like someone clearing his or her throat. At first, he thought it was one of the house-elves or the talking portraits; however, one can never be too sure, so, he reached into the pockets of his sleep trousers and wrapped his hand tightly around his wand before turning to face the source of the noise. For a brief second, he thought it was a ghost, or perhaps a thief, and it wasn't until he saw the crown of tangled brown hair piled on top of the intruder's head that he realized that it was just Granger. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Merlin Granger! You scared the shit out of me -"

"I said I wanted to go now."

Her voice sounded coarse and unleveled, exactly like someone who hadn't spoken for a week.

"What," Draco started, narrowing his eyes in hopes of forcing them to adjust to the dark. He had no idea how to begin processing what Granger just said. "What d-"

"I said – I want to leave," Granger repeated, in the same jagged voice, stopping briefly as though something within her prevented her from finishing the sentence smoothly.

She took a step closer to him. The moon, which was shining from the large window down the hallway, illuminated her face. She looked much older than eighteen to him.

Her face was fixed in an almost practiced look of determination, with her lips pursed tightly together and her eyebrows raised. Unfortunately for her, her eyes told a different story.

They looked like eyes of a person who had seen too much of the world. They looked tired.

No, her demeanor could not fool him. He knew those eyes too well.

Before he could come up with a response, Granger continued.

"This is preposterous, all of it," she stopped suddenly and broke out into a short bout of coughing, bringing a hand over her mouth and placing the other firmly over her chest. When she was finished, she made a sweeping gesture in the space between them with the hand that was closest to her mouth, and she continued, though her eyes were welling up with tears from the strain. "We both know this is absurd. I'm ready to go."

Draco was confused. What did she want him to do? Why did she choose now of all times to start jabbering away? How come as soon as Granger decided to open her mouth, she had to create a façade of control and strength to match? Why was she like this?

He tried to plan what he was going to say to make himself appear more in control than he really was. He had to think rationally about this because it could easily turn into a screaming row. He needed to think of his mother's plan, and calming Granger down would certainly work in his favor in the future.

His pride was rapidly becoming a figment of his imagination.

He sighed.

"I know that you're probably upset-"

"Oh, _upset_ doesn't even begin to cover it _Draco Malfoy_," she interjected sharply, placing her hands on her hips.

Draco was taken aback yet again.

_What the fuck? _

The mudblood went from barely acknowledging the outside world one day to having a proper attitude the next.

She was not being reasonable.

"I think you need some rest or something-"

"Oh I've gotten plenty of rest don't you think? No. I cannot stay here a day longer. I'm done. You and I both know that _this_," she paused and waggled both of her index fingers between the space separating them to indicate she was addressing both "Is absolutely impossible and demented. I have to go."

_Nice Draco. Be nice. _

"Its not that simple, Granger. I wish it was," he said, pulling his hand out of his wand pocket and lowering his eyes.

"Bullshit Malfoy! Bullshit!"

The unexpected rise in volume caused him to jump so suddenly that his back knocked against his doorframe. He almost felt cornered by the small witch in front of him.

He was in such a state of shock that he didn't have enough time to respond to her outburst before another one followed.

"_You_ don't want this! _I_ don't want this! Lets call it off! Let me get out of this place! I don't want anything from you!"

Her eyes were filled with rage, and she started panting dramatically.

He wished he had enough humor left to laugh at how silly she looked in that moment. A part of him knew her anger was justified and another part of him felt like being a prat.

_The plan. The plan. The plan. _

"Yeah, sorry about that, but I don't think you can just _leave_. I know _this_ isn't _ideal_ for the both of us, but at least you're alive-"

"Don't talk to me about life! I'd rather die than _ever _let you hurt me!"

"Merlin Granger! How many times do I have to tell you I won't try anything! "

_Shit. No Draco, calm down. _

She scuffed.

"Right! What you people wouldn't do to save your own lives! You would do _anything _Voldemort asks-"

"Don't you dare say that name aloud-"

"What? Scared he will show up and off us both? What does it matter anyway; he's already won!"

"Exactly _why _you should treat his name with a little more respect!"

"Respect it how? By being afraid like you people? That acting like it doesn't exist will make it go away? Like what you and your mum did to me? Like you did with Dumbledore on the astronomy tow-"

Draco felt his palms grow sweaty with rage and he held them firmly by his sides.

_Yes, yes prat-Draco it is then. _

He was going to let her have it.

"YOU know nothing about that. If I were you I would keep my mouth shut about things I didn't understand dirty little mud-"

"Oh let me guess!" she let out a terse laugh. "MUDBLOOD! Seven years and a war later, and you haven't come up with any new material. I'm not really surprised. I always knew there wasn't much going on up there." She pointed toward his forehead.

"You're one to talk! You spend the last week moping around here like some petrified lunatic. I thought that you went mental!"

"Um, well, let me see," she said mockingly, extending her hand to list off her excuses. "My friends are dead, we lost the war, my sodding wand was destroyed, and I'm stuck here with two of the most superficial nitwits in the Wizarding world for Merlin knows how long! I'm not _you,_ Draco Malfoy. I have emotions. A person cannot just ignore trauma! It's not human! But I'm back to myself now and I'm ready to get out of here-"

"Oh don't play games with me mudblood, _you _of all people can't get over what happened last week that quickly. Now you're all put-together all of a sudden huh? You can't fool me, I know that expression in your eyes too well." He hadn't meant to say the last bit aloud, but in his anger, it tumbled out without passing his censor. Regardless, he felt a small surge of victory as Granger briefly lowered her eyes.

But she was not one to give up so easily.

"If you aren't going to try anything, then why am I still here? There would be no point in keeping me around! It doesn't make any logical sense! And why have you been so… accommodating to me? I'm not exactly in a position of power in this situation-"

"That's exactly why you should stop squeezing your stubby nose into my business-"

"Another curious question," she sarcastically placed her hand other her chin as to mock someone deep in thought. "Why didn't you say anything when Voldemort paired us up? You could have told him killing me on the spot would be a better punishment. Of course, that would require some bullocks on your and mummy's parts, but if you hate me as much as you did at Hogwarts, that wouldn't be a problem. Or you could have lied and said we were mates so that he would give me away to someone else. Why didn't you speak up, Malfoy? Now you are stuck and have to do something. If you aren't planning on hurting me then you should have no problem letting me go. But you _are_ planning something. I can see it written across your pointy face! I want to let you know whatever it is won't work. He will find out if you don't do what he says."

"Shut up, Granger! I'm not planning anything! But it's not like I can do anything about our arrangement! I did not choose you! And yes, you didn't choose me! But the Dark Lord made up his mind and I can't exactly go back on my word! What am I supposed to do? How does that look if you just leave? You'll probably go running to put the Order back together, and then I look like a moron-"

"Please do not pretend this is about your pride! You are worried about saving your arse above all else! And what I do when I leave here is none of your concern-"

"Well, well, well. I was right! You would go straight to the fucking Order-"

"WHO ELSE DO I HAVE, MALFOY?"

She looked furious. Pupils dilated, hands firmly at her sides, and breathing heavily.

He obviously touched a nerve.

"No matter, they're all dead anyway," he tried to sound nonchalant and flippant, but it came off tired and weak.

The room became silent apart from the sound of Granger's erratic breathing.

She looked down briefly as if she was lost in some thought before she continued.

"While that might be true, but what is it? What are you planning? Imperius? Polyjuice potion? What is it Malfoy? Whatever it is, Voldemort is smarter than you might think. There are ways of finding out what happened in this manor even if you do not tell him the truth. So you have to make a decision. I know you hate me and can't touch me. So let me go, and when Voldemort finds me on my own, he will kill me on my own. That way, I'm out of your hair-"

"That's the problem Granger! You think this is all about you! He will kill me too if you disappear!"

"So the alternative is what? You and me, master and whore-"

Her words made Draco feel sick.

"Don't you talk about it like that!"

"Like what, Malfoy? You and I both know what he wants us to do! There is no getting around it! I know you don't want me! And even if you did, you would have to take what you wanted by force because there is no way-"

"Oh, and I thought the Dark Lord was the pervert! I will let you in on a little secret," he leaned in closer and narrowed his eyes at her, "I will _never _lower myself to so much as touching you. You are the scum at the bottom of the Wizarding world. If the Dark Lord would sweep in tonight to kill you, I wouldn't stop him. You should be honored that he gave _you _to _me_. Not only did he give you the chance to serve a higher caliber of wizard, he gave you a chance to live longer. You should be kissing the ground that I walk on. Some of your dead friends would have _loved _to be in your position."

He didn't realize how much he questioned the truthfulness of these words until after he uttered them.

"Your argument is invalid based on the point that I mentioned earlier about rather being dead," she retorted in a snippy tone, folding her arms over her chest.

"Whatever Granger, you can't leave-"

"We'll see about that won't we?" she challenged.

"Don't be an idiot! This isn't Hogwarts! This game is bigger than you and me."

"I would give you the same advice."

Draco paused before speaking.

"Merlin, I almost forgot how much I hate you. I wish you would just go back into your fucking trance you stupid bitch." As the words came out, Draco had to fight to keep his face in a tight, indifferent expression.

Granger narrowed her eyes.

"The feeling is mutual."

"Well I am getting tired of your bullshit, so I am off to bed. Sod off. And don't try anything frisky tonight either. At Malfoy Manor, someone is always watching."

Draco then turned to face his bedroom, pulling open the door and letting it slam behind him, right in Granger's face.

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**Hey all!**

**A massive thanks is in order for this chapter. First and foremost, to my beta 'arosesinnocence' for not only beta-ing this chapter, but going back and beta-ing the first three as well. Seriously guys, this happened in REAL life, she simply is amazing. So I recommend everyone go back and read the first three revised chapters. Not only do they make waaayyyy more sense, they are more cohesive and I believe you will enjoy them better and actually understand whats happening (I'm so serious). **

**Also, thanks to 'Tom Felton me up' (omg what a username) for your thoughtful and lovely review (thanks so much!), 'twelvex' for your reviews and 'Cattigirl' for your enthusiasm (I love it!). Also everyone who has reviewed so far! **

**Please feel free to go back and review the first three revised chapters. You guys are awesome! **


	5. Bird Song

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

CHAPTER 5: Bird Song

"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it."

-_Jane Eyre _By Charlotte Bronte

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"You've rowed with her, haven't you?"

She was doing it again - accessing Draco's inner thoughts with just one sweeping look over his face. Though he tried tirelessly to look apathetic and indifferent, his mother was breaking through his mental barriers with her omniscient power to access the contents of his mind without legilmency. There was no point of trying to pretend that he wasn't angry about the things that happened between him and Granger the night before.

Draco could feel Narcissa's eyes on him, and from the corner of his eye he could see the blurred features of her face and her robes. She slowly pushed her weight off his bedpost and took a step closer to where he was sitting on his desk.

"Draco," she said firmly, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"What mother?" he asked sharply. He hated to admit it, but he was being rather rude to her again.

Draco tried to keep his eyes glued firmly to the moving Slytherin House poster that hung diagonal to his desk. Two silver snakes weaved in and out of the emerald house emblem, almost, but never quite touching each other in their delicate dance. He got it for Christmas from his father when he was seven. Even then he was expected to uphold Salazar's mighty principles. The poster hung there ever since.

"Answer me. Did you fight with her? Last night?"

Draco clenched his jaw stubbornly. He fleetingly considered lying to her, but his realistic side got ahold of him, and he knew it would be futile. He pressed his palms to the ebony wood of his oversized desk and felt the cool surface against his hands.

"It wasn't all my fault. She's just…" he lowered his eyes. He knew he shouldn't have paused before finishing his statement, but yet again, conceptualizing how he felt about Granger was becoming too burdensome to simply curve into words. If anything, last night proved that.

"Merlin Draco," Narcissa sighed.

Suddenly, Draco felt his curved armchair lift off of the carpet and rotate 180 degrees. He was now uncomfortably facing the image of his livid mother and her outstretched wand, which was pointed at the center of his chest. He sat back in the chair, wrapping his hands tightly around the armrests on either side of him.

Her blonde hair hung in polished locks, fixed tightly over her right shoulder. The morning sun coming in from the large glass window reflected off of her carefully-pinned hair and casted shadows over her lavender robes. Her lips were pursed tightly in the same way Granger's had been the night before, but her eyes were wide with worry.

"What. Were. You. Thinking! You could have sabotaged the entire plan! You can't afford to upset her-"

"You act like it is all my fault! She provoked _me. _I was trying to be _nice _and control my temper_._"

"Obviously not hard enough Draco! You have to be careful about how you talk to her. I could hear the two of you last night. You sounded like wild banshees!"

"She is the banshee! Can you imagine, after all we have done for her, she becomes miss prim and proper and attacks me in the dead of night with her 'Can I leave now?' bullshit. She is moronic."

Narcissa sighed, closed her eyes and placed a hand on her temples. For a brief second, the young wizard felt ashamed for making his mother so stressed, but he needed her to understand what Granger was doing to him; how irritated she was making him.

"Well, you have to apologize."

Draco nearly fell out of his chair in disbelief.

"That's not likely mother."

"Why not?"

He folded his hands together and leaned back in the newly positioned chair. Just like Granger last night, his mother was being unreasonable.

_Merlin, women. _

"Because I'm not exactly her biggest fan right now. She's all _different _now. She has gone and gotten her bitchy little fire back, so there will be no reconciling with her. I know how she is, mother. The best we can do is make sure she stays-"

"You have to apologize."

Draco furrowed his brow.

"No-"

"Draco."

"She provoked me-"

"It doesn't matter."

Draco looked down and kicked emerald green carpet underneath him with the edge of his dress shoes. He watched one of the black laces fall from the top of his shoe and bounce against the carpet in response. He felt as if he were twelve.

"She knows we are up to something," Draco started quietly. "She said something about the Dark Lord being able to find out if we do not accomplish what he asks. She said that he is smarter than we think."

His words were met by silence. He raised his eyes slowly to look at his mother. Her lips were still pursed. For a brief second, her eyes wrinkled slightly and she let out a sad sigh.

"We shall cross that bridge when we get there. What else can we do? She might have been saying that just to make you upset. For now, you must apologize."

Her words hung in the air quite uncomfortably.

Draco's heart fell in his chest and his felt his face grow hot. Never in his life had he felt how he did in that moment.

In that moment he realized just how helpless his family had become. Just how helpless _he_ had become. The Malfoys were _scared_. It was a new and abstract concept, but one that had been sneaking quietly under the engraved door handles of their mansion, peeping out from the corners of their painted smirks and boiling under the skin of the burning marks that scarred their forearms. Fear itself was always there, but it wasn't until that moment Draco realized just how prevalent it was in his life. Just how _heavy_ it was.

For the first time in his life, the people he relied on were out of answers. His only option of surviving was wrapped tightly in Hermione Granger's tiny, clammy hands. That realization terrified Draco. He would have to rely on a plan that he wasn't sure would be successful and get a girl who he hated to feel sorry for him…a girl that he didn't understand. The problem was that as easy as it was for The Dark Lord to put him in this position, he could pull him out and have him murdered. So essentially, Granger was his only way out. His only hope. And that terrified him most of all.

Draco was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear his mother turn on her heels and make her way to the bedroom door.

His head shot up.

"Where exactly are you going?"

"I believe we are finished here. Perhaps you can ask her to join us for dinner tonight, but after you admit you were wrong-"

"Right, Right," Draco said hurriedly, motioning to her that he understood. "You still have some explaining to do."

Narcissa gave him a confused look.

"Lucius," Draco said blatantly, moving to the edge of his seat.

The older witch looked taken aback for a moment before quickly arranging her features into her trademark look of nonchalance.

"Oh, don't think I forgot, mother," he said, attempting to stifle his approaching smirk with a twitch of his lips. She thought that he forgot about his parent's marital issues amidst the Granger crisis.

She averted her eyes before she spoke in a low, careful voice.

"Your father has decided he no longer desires to be a member of this family…regarding the circumstances. So he sent an owl a few days after the battle saying that he would be taking his affairs elsewhere. And since this is my father's house, I thought it would be best to stay here. You are a legal adult so you are free to do what you want, but I didn't think it was a good idea for you and…erm…the muggleborn to be separated. So it was best for you to just stay here."

Draco took a moment before responding.

"He's embarrassed, isn't he? Of me. Of what the Dark Lord's asked me to do. He's ashamed."

He knew that his guess was correct when his mother swallowed a mouthful of air and tilted her head to the side. But she tried to lie to him anyways.

"Of course not Draco, don't be silly. Even you know that this was going to happen eventually with the way things were headed. Perhaps all along," her grey eyes filled with a far away look that he could not place. It made him feel that unsettling sense of fear once again.

"Yeah, but the fact that I'm stuck with the mudblood was the icing on the cake," Draco retorted, jumping up from his chair. "It was all he needed to leave us. I'm an embarrassment."

"No Draco-"

"Don't lie to me!"

"Calm down," Narcissa said looking over her shoulder as if Hermione would suddenly apparate into the room. "You and I both know who your father is out to help when it comes down to it. It's for the best; you don't need any distractions." She took a step back and reached her hand out as if to grasp the door handle.

Draco balled his hands into fists.

She was right, as she often was. Lucius would have left them eventually; if not before the war, then after, no matter who came out victorious. His parents' relationship had always been turbulent and tried, but they always managed to place the jagged edges of their rough marriage out of the public eye. People only saw what they let them. Regardless, he realized that there was an inherent difficulty that he would have to face now that his father was gone.

The Head Malfoy represented something stable, tangible, and familiar. Of course, there were the days at Hogwarts when someone irritated him and he could threaten to tell his father or use Lucius's seemingly innumerable connections to get him out of trouble. With his father, the Wizarding World was at his fingertips. A reality with him gone was foreign. It was wrong. He wasn't sure what was happening outside of these walls, and there was no way to control what was happening _inside_ them either.

"Well, I'm going out to run some errands, so please think about what you are going to do and say before you make things worse," Narcissa said calmly, placing her hand on the silver handle.

With that, she left, letting his bedroom door 'click' shut behind her.

Draco sighed and fell backwards back into the armchair. He put his face into his hands.

Three things were now certain.

One, he was going to have to shove (and in a very reluctant manner) his pride aside and apologize to Granger.

Two, he realized that the fear he felt minutes before, the fear that he knew all along but never labeled, is what caused his father to leave his family. And he was not coming back.

Three, he now had a difficult choice. He could do something to combat this newfound weakness, or he could be like his father and run. It was the difference between being the person he was used to or becoming something entirely different.

Granger's words from the night before after he tried to scold her for using the Dark Lord's true name suddenly replayed in his head.

"_Respect it how? By being afraid like you people? By acting like it doesn't exist will make it go away__?"_

Draco closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

.

.

Herminie brushed her index finger down leather-bound copy the 6th edition of _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them. _It was a very old book. The creases of the burgundy leather of the book were filled with a light layer of dust that were concentrated in the corners and sprinkled on the soft edges. Hermione thought about it.

This was a very difficult book to get ahold of. They stopped publishing _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them _about two hundred years ago, and the sixth post-medieval edition was rumored to have very few safely-guarded copies around the world. How the Malfoys managed to find such a rare book and have it jammed casually beside hundreds of other important volumes of wizarding texts in a simple spare bedroom was beyond Hermione.

She traced her finger down the spine absentmindedly before taking a step back to observe the bookshelf in its entirety once more. She felt a sharp sting of remorse as her eyes glazed over the shelf filled with a motley of leather and gold-colored texts. It reminded her of the library.

The library at Hogwarts was very important to the young witch. It acted as her enclave, her hideout, even her home. Sometimes she secretly felt the reason she loved Hogwarts as much as she did was buried somewhere between the millions of pages stowed in the magical room. But now it was gone.

Hermione looked up at the black hippogriff figures carved on opposite sides of the top of the structure. The leered back at her, their wooden beaks pointed to the floor, and their eyes seem to follow her around the room. They seemed to be protecting the books. She thought of Draco's words during their heated row the night before.

"_At Malfoy Manor, someone is always watching." _

She felt a shudder go up her spine and she slowly let her finger off the dusty book. A part of her wanted to pull the books of the shelf one by one and curl up by the golden embers of the fireplace and get lost in the words. She could forget everything, and it would be easy.

Another more dominant part of her knew exactly what she needed to do, and it certainly was not easy. She needed to get out of this house and into the real world. And if Draco Malfoy was not planning on helping her, she was going to have to do it on her own.

She had been up all night thinking of the practicalities her escape. The most important detail being that she would have to arrange the whole act without a wand. Perhaps if she were sneaking out of her own home in the muggle world, this would not be a problem. But the Malfoy manor was like an ancient magical time bomb that probably held all sorts of magical traps and snares to stop intruders.

And there was no way apparition could work. She tried a few hours before, which only resulted in a throbbing headache and sweat-stained robes. She guessed that apparition had been sealed off in the manor, or that her body was still too weak to complete the task.

What she needed was a wand.

Hermione moved to sit back on the edge of the king-size bed. The air under the emerald sheets billowed out from her weight and sent emerald ripples to the other end of the bed.

Narcissa's old navy blue dress robe slipped off one of her shoulders and gathered limply above her elbow. Every time she tried to yank the wretched fabric up, it fell. It was starting to distract her from the task at hand. She put her hand under her chin and tried to visualize what she had seen of the Malfoy manor so far. The hallway where her room was located reminded her of the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. It held rows of endless doors and protruding shiny torches bearing faded sapphire flames spaced equally on the wall between each door. She could not remember which way she and Draco took to get outside during their tour of the grounds. All she could visualize was a gate, a big iron gate, like a jail cell boxing in the grounds and the house.

She didn't even know which floor she was on.

She pulled the sleeve up again, and as she adjusted herself to let go of the fabric, she heard an uneasy voice say her name.

"Granger," Draco said, interrupting her train of thought and causing her to jump back on the bed. She looked up to see him standing there in his usual outfit of black trousers and dress shirt and the same look of practiced apathy on his stupid face from the night before.

She didn't dare let go of her hand holding up the dress as she adjusted her own face to fit a look of determination and haughty indifference. She wanted to look like someone who would come out of whatever scuffles came her way with poise and wisdom. But she of all people knew looks could be deceiving.

"Malfoy, haven't you heard of the concept of knocking? You can't just walk in here like that," she said, narrowing her eyes at him in hopes of intimidating him.

She tried to read the expression on his face, but he stared at her with the same uninterested look. He waited a few moments before speaking.

"Right Granger. Next time maybe. I need to talk to you."

"I've got nothing to say to you."

His jaw twitched, and he looked as if he wanted to say something but at the last minute thought against it.

"I think we got off the wrong start-"

Hermione clutched the dress robes tighter to her chest, and resisted the urge to stand up to express her anger. No need to be closer to him.

"Understatement of the bloody year Malfoy. I believe we got off to 'the wrong start' the day you called me a mud-"

"I know, I know, I know." To Hermione's surprise, he looked almost contemplative. He closed his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just think last night we did not handle things the right way. And I'm here," Draco paused, grimaced and wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "I wanted to let you know you aren't the only person in the wrong."

_What is that supposed to mean? _

It took Hermione a few seconds to process what he said. And when she did, her response scared both of them.

She felt the laugh in her chest before it reached her throat. She almost choked on it because it came so suddenly. Before she knew it, her body started to shake from the tremors of laughter. It was the first time she so much as smiled since the war, and she didn't know how much she missed the concept of humor until she was doubling over. It felt good.

"What's so fucking funny?" He asked sharply, opening his eyes and looking more annoyed then ever.

Hermione pressed her free hand over her mouth to mute the bounds of laughter, but it didn't stop the shaking.

"You heard me Granger, what are you on about?"

She composed herself by taking deep breaths and pressing her free hand firmly to her stomach to stop the tremors.

_Merlin he couldn't be serious. _Even Draco Malfoy wasn't that stupid.

"Its just," She pressed her hand over her lips to stifle a fit of giggles ignoring Draco who was rolling his eyes at her. "You…just…_Is that supposed to be an apology? _"

Draco looked taken aback, then for a brief moment something that resembled hurt, but he quickly fell back into tight indifference.

"So what if it is?"

"You," she held down another lose bound of giggles. "I mean really Malfoy. _Please_."

She felt herself gaining control slowly. She straightened her back. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" he questioned.

"I mean…really. Just leave it out. Don't apologize if you don't mean it, and especially if you are going to word it the way that you did. 'Y_ou weren't the only person in the wrong'_? What does that even mean Malfoy? You don't apologize to someone by focusing on what the other person did wrong. Didn't your mother teach you-"

"Don't you dare insult my mother, especially after everything she has done for you," he said, raising his voice and leaving an echo throughout the room.

"Ahh, there is the Malfoy I know," she said throwing him a smirk.

"Whatever Granger, I didn't have to do this-"

"You shouldn't _have to_ either. Especially since you obviously don't care about me. Like I said last night, you're probably apologizing to me as a part of a plan to save yourself. You're so predictable." Hermione rolled her eyes and looked down at the green carpet.

"Are we done, Granger?" he asked sarcastically.

"Actually no. _We're_ not," she spat. His sarcastic tone reminded her of her anger from the night before. The unfinished nature of the whole ordeal added with Draco's lame, half-interested, flimsy apology was enough to set the witch into a rage again.

_Just who did he think he was? _

"No, _I'm_ not." She repeated. "_How dare you _even dream of coming in here with that terrible excuse for an apology? _How dare you, _after everything you and your _people _havedone to my friends, come in here and say sorry for just one stupid argument. A half-arsed apology at best. _How dare you, _after everything that has happened from this war, ever think that I would be interested in hearing what you have to say? You're a miserable human being. You can take your apology and stick it someplace warm. I don't accept it. Now sod off."

Hermione felt the unfamiliar flush of her cheeks that she felt whenever she used profanity. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest.

"Its not that simple Granger," he replied, in a much quieter tone then she expected. Usually, he would be just as mad as she was by this stage in the argument.

"Yes, sure Malfoy its not that simple because you most likely have some inane plan to get me to save your arse from Voldemort. Forget about it, just go ahead and do it."

Draco tilted his head and gave her a weary look.

"Do what?" he asked.

Hermione paused and tried to imagine the words coming out of her mouth. Merlin, she never considered uttering these words to anyone, least of all Draco Malfoy.

"_Force yourself on me." _

The words came out rushed and almost whispered. After seeing his reaction, a small part of her wished she could take it back.

He looked disgusted.

"I told you last night," he hissed. " I won't try anything. If you don't want believe anything I say, fine. But you can trust me when I say, _I will never lay a hand on you_."

Hermione's heart plummeted in her chest. She hadn't expected him to be so direct and straightforward. She wanted to tell herself that his reaction was refreshing and comforting, but for some reason his disgust made her feel jaded.

"Well, keep it that way," she snapped awkwardly, pointing to the door. "I'm finished with you."

He clenched his jaw and eyed her slowly as if he was debating with himself to say something, but it looked like he thought against it the last moment.

"Yeah Granger," was all he said instead, before he turned and slammed the door in her face for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

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Later that night, Hermione found herself pacing the bedroom in long strides and feeling more like herself than she had in the past few months. The argument with Draco had been a victory for her, but she knew something was still off. The way he looked annoyed and even a little hurt was different than the state she left him in during their last argument - furious and crazed.

"_He is trying." _

Hermione pushed the odd thought aside and continued to look at the situation realistically. No need to start feeling remorseful for Draco Malfoy. After all, _she _was the one who was going to be killed. _She _was the one who had no more friends. _Surely_, his pride was not worth those things.

But these were just trifles compared to the big picture. She was making her way to the right side of the room facing the giant oak door when she heard a light tapping from the other side. Hermione stopped in her tracks adjacent to the bed.

Was he really back for round three?

"I thought I told you to sod off!" she yelled reaching, out of habit, into the pocket of the droopy silk robes in search of her wand. But of course, it wasn't there.

"Missus?" a reluctant squeaky voice asked in return.

Hermione slapped her hand over her forehead. Of course, how could she forget? The house-elf made his way to her room around this time of night to bring her dinner.

"So sorry," she cried, yanking the massive door open and kneeling slightly to usher the creature in with her free hand. "Come on in Sonny…I thought you were somebody else."

"Yes missus," Sonny said, trying to navigate his way while holding up a multicolored stack of folded dress robes in one hand, and a covered silver dishpan in the other.

Hermione dove to take the piles from the elf, but he veered to the right in order to avoid her assistance.

"Sonny, let me help; you're too small to be carrying-"

"No, No, No missus, Sonny will hold all the things for missus."

"I understand that you want to do you job, but it doesn't matter; I will be happy to help you."

She attempted, with more force, to grab the dishpan, but the elf veered again, this time reaching the bedside table and placing the pan down before she could stop him. He placed the folded robes on the bed.

"These robes of Mrs. Malfoy that are better for misses because she is small. Mr. Malfoy says Mrs. Malfoy's dresses is big on missus," Sonny explained, pointing to the clothes.

Hermione blushed and pulled the robe's sleeve over her shoulder again.

_Malfoy noticed that my clothes didn't fit? _

It seemed so out of character. When they fought, she couldn't imagine him focusing on anything other than his own irrational, judgmental anger. But to notice that her robes didn't fit, he had to be really watching her closely.

She looked at the pile and thanked the elf.

As he turned to go, Hermione clutched the back of his dirty rags to stop him.

"Sonny, I," she paused and gathered herself, choosing her words closely. "I wanted to ask you something."

Sonny's saucepan-shaped eyes widened, and his wrinkly ears twitched in surprise. Sonny was one of the cutest house elves she ever seen. He was smaller than Dobby or Winky and reminded the witch of a pruney baby with floppy ears and wide chestnut-colored eyes.

She smiled at the creature to reassure him, and then continued.

"Is there any way you could tell me more about the manor? Do you know of any enchantments or spells the Malfoys have on the mansion to keep it safe? Just interested, you know…I like to read," she promised, pointing to the bookshelf.

Sonny's ears twitched a second time, and his eyes widened in surprise.

_Poor thing. _

This was probably the first time in his life that someone asked for his input on anything.

But that was okay because she knew he was the only living thing in that house that could tell her what she wanted to know.

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><p>.<p>

The next night, Hermione gave the room a finial look over before straightening her jumper. She asked Sonny to clean and repair her clothes she wore during the battle.

Never in her life was she more excited to be in jeans, trainers and a jumper. Apparently Narcissa Malfoy did not wear pants. Her eyes scanned the range of the room. She looked at the old fireplace, the bed she had spent days in, and the frilly drapes. She almost felt nostalgic. This place had housed her during the most difficult days of her life and now she was leaving. She finally turned to look at the old bookshelf in the corner, and something that reminded Hermione of sadness hit her suddenly.

"_There will be a time for books later." _

She nodded to herself firmly.

"_Now or never." _

Tonight she was going to escape. After discussing spending almost two hours with Sonny the house-elf discussing the ins and outs of the Malfoy manor, she could be considered an expert. Almost.

Hermione, as she often did, planned the whole ordeal obsessively, mentally imagining her path for the reminder of the day, bringing together bits and pieces of images of the house's hallways, staircases and doors, trying to work out the path perfectly. Implementation was the only phase left.

She let out an anxious sigh and crept to the door, slowly pulling her body through the open slimmer. She opened it just enough to let her body through. The sapphire embers from the magically lit hallway reflected off every door and the marble floor, causing Hermione's shadow to stretch across the length of the corridor like a floating grey ghost. It took her a moment to adjust to the odd-colored lighting. She rubbed her eyes with her palm. She was sweating. The fear was almost palpable. Being in the cold, empty hallway in the blue shadows was different from imagining it. It was much larger than she pictured in her mind. It was colder. A nearby statue's shadow seemed to loom over her trembling figure, the white shiny gold plaque beneath the wizard's bust gleaming brightly in the shadows.

She looked ahead of her. The blue lamps only lit a distance about 10 feet ahead of her. She couldn't even see the door of the room she knew to be Draco's. She felt the sweat moving to her forehead. A burst of icy air brushed past her and gently pulled her bangs off her forehead. Hermione shivered and pulled her jacket closer. She had the strange feeling she was being watched.

She had to keep going.

As she tiptoed toward the eerie blue darkness, she heard a muffled sound her right. She stopped dead in her tracks and sheer panic bubbled in her stomach. She felt as if she would vomit.

She tried to move slowly to the left to shield herself in the shadows, but as she slid toward the wall, one stubborn foot tripped over a bump in the carpet, which sent her entire body clumsily into the wall behind her. Her body thudded against the wall; it was not loud, but enough to set uncontrollable panic loose in her mind. She hissed and closed her eyes, silently cursing her stupidity. This wasn't going the way she planed.

She looked ahead. After a few moments her eyes adjusted, and she realized that the sound she heard was a lazy snore from a sleeping witch in a portrait. The overweight witch in purple hair rollers had her neck comfortable tucked tightly to her chest. As if on cue, the painting let out another terse snore, massive chest rising with the feat. Hermione breathed a shaky sigh of relief. She had forgotten about the portraits.

She took a few moments to regain her composure and slowly crept back into the darkness.

She tiptoed down the hallway counting the doors she passed as she traveled.

_1._

_2._

_3._

_4._

When she got to the fifth door, she slowed her pace to slip past Draco's door with as little sound as physically possible because she knew from her earlier experience that he had a tendency to wake up at night. She couldn't risk him waking up. She didn't hear a single sound coming from his room. It was eerily quiet. It was almost as if the sleeping paintings held their breaths while she slid past her captor. It was so quiet Hermione imagined that he wasn't even in the room. For a panicky moment she imaged him tearing down the hallway as he did the night before and catching her. She pictured him storming out of the blue cloud of shadows and backing her into the wall while jabbing his wand at her throat…

She pushed the thought away.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she got six doors from her room.

_Almost at the staircase. _

She reached the break in the wall that Sonny assured her would be the right side of the Malfoy's adorned split staircase. She paused. This is where things got complicated. She noticed from her few departures outside of the guestroom, that the staircase's stairs were made out of wood, covered in spotted emerald carpet. She couldn't take the risk of traveling down them by foot, for fear of creating noise and waking Malfoy up. So she had to be creative. It took her a half an hour to come up with the idea, and she almost laughed when it finally came into her mind. It was ludicrous. She was going to slide down the staircase if she couldn't walk it without causing a commotion.

She placed her hand tightly on the golden knob that stuck out of the top of the gold railing. She looked down into the dark. The staircase faded as it descended into the darkness like a headless golden snake. It was higher up than she had anticipated.

Hermione gulped.

Her palms were sweaty, and she couldn't get a good hold on the rail.

She mentally counted to three and lifted her body up with her arms onto the jeweled railing with less effort than she expected. She either lost weight or she was getting her strength back. But there was not time to think about those things.

She straddled the railing so that her legs hung on opposite sides and took another breath before letting go.

Just as she suspected, the gloss of the railing was slick enough to slide her down the railing without making a sound. That was until she reached the end of the staircase.

When she ran into the finial at the end of the railing, she lost her balance and fell ungracefully off the edge. Her hands were so sweaty that when she tried to reach out to regain her balance, her grip slipped, and her head hit the marble of the floor with a 'bang'.

The sound of her fall echoed through the large empty room. She heard shuffling somewhere in the darkness of the foyer. A breeze rushed through the room, and she realized that the sound was a nearby curtain. She had no idea how big the room was; all she could see was darkness. It was not blue darkness as the hallway upstairs; this was a black, all-encompassing darkness. It was the kind of blackness that made any inhabitant uncertain of their surroundings. It was time to get out of there.

She quickly propelled her body off the side of the staircase and reorganized herself into an awkward crouching position to keep her balance. She looked behind her. Her head was inches away from one of the staircase's golden spindles. If she had hit her head on that, she could have risked making even more noise from the reverberations. She had to be more careful.

She stood up and tiptoed to the side of the staircase, where Sonny said that he slept. She placed her hands against the Slytherin green wallpaper adorned with shiny raincloud-colored snakes with beady red eyes. Like the hippogriffs on the bookshelf in her room, they seemed to be watching her every move. She placed her hand flat against the wallpaper and began feeling her way around.

As she searched, for a brief moment, she wondered if Sonny had lied to her. What if there was no door handle? What if she would be stuck in the darkness with no way to escape? What if Draco found her like that the next morning, curled in a ball and feeble?

She battled the frightening image by frantically running her hands over the wallpaper. She didn't care that her movements were making a ruckus. She felt as if she might vomit again.

But whenever Hermione began to think the worst, small miracles came to her.

It took her a minute, but when she found the tiny black handle that Sonny told her lead to his cabinet, a surge of joy filled her chest.

Hermione swung the door open and crawled into the cabinet as if she had been practicing her escape whole life. The cupboard was dark and filled with musty air. She stifled a cough that was charging up her throat due to the dead air. She was terrified to make a sound and wake up Sonny.

She calmed her nerves by standing in place for a few moments, while taking deep breaths. Another gulp of unseemly air filled her lungs.

Why did they have to put him in this tiny cupboard? It was tragic.

_Honestly, as if the Malfoys would treat a living being with even a shred of decency. _

She knew exactly what she had to do now. Poor Sonny had told her all the details without even knowing that he was helping her escape. He wished she could bring him with her, but she knew if her task were unsuccessful, he would be the first one killed by the Death Eaters.

She looked ahead, and from the light streaming in from the hallway, she saw three small house-elf-sized wooden doors just like Sonny claimed.

In her panic, she had to stop and take a moment to remember the orders that the doors went in.

The first one led to his sleeping corridors, the second led to a tunnel that traveled to the manor grounds, and the last led to a tunnel that carried the traveler to a spot right outside the Malfoy Manor gate.

Hermione almost cried with relief as she reached for the handle of the third door.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Twenty minutes later, the eager witch pulled her body out of the hole of the dark tunnel and into the crisp night air. Around the same time that night, Draco Malfoy woke abruptly from his sleep.

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><p>.<p>

**A/N: Hey guys! So sorry for the wait, school work has been insane this semester and is cutting into my FF time. I hoped you like this chapter (hehe cliffy...). **

**Thanks to 'arosesinnocence' for being an amazingly wonderful and perfect beta ( I feel like I'm missing a comma in there or maybe too many modifiers haha). Also to 'River in Egypt' for your thoughtful review, I really appreciate it, and 'janjan2009' for reviewing every chapter. **

**Just so ya'll know, I'm planning on putting a lot chapters up in the next month so be prepared. And from this point forward, there will be so much Dramione that you will vomit from the sheer amount. I just needed to set up some things in the first few chapters so I hope you did not get bored with all this introductory shit. **

**Please review! **

**marry-me-a-little **


	6. Heavy in Your Arms

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

CHAPTER 6: Heavy in Your Arms

"I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of the hunger of life that gnaws in us all, to keep alive in our hearts a sense of the inexpressibly human."

Black Boy by Richard Wright

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><p>.<p>

As soon as Draco awoke, he knew something was wrong.

He could _feel_ it in the air. He shot up uncomfortably almost banging his foot against the foot of the wooden frame of his bed.

His room was eerily silent; the only sound he could make out was that of his own breathing.

The last time he awoke in the middle of the night like this was a year ago in the weeks before he was to kill Dumbledore . Nightmares would grip him so strongly that he found his mind reacting to the fear and waking him up before he could reach the end of the terrible dreams. That feeling of fear would grip his chest so tightly that he had trouble breathing. He had promised himself that he would never feel that out of control again. And for what seemed like the millionth time in the past year, Draco Malfoy was wrong.

Draco waited a few moments to slow his breathing and adjust his eyes to the darkness. The more he tried to calm himself, the more the fearful nagging gripped his chest. He had the feeling that something was missing…something was off.

Draco scratched the sleep-matted hair on his head and slid out of bed. Something told him to leave his room and wander into the hallway. He tried to ignore it, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep unless he surrendered to his intuition. Draco grabbed his wand from his nightstand and put his bathrobe on over his pajamas before leaving the room.

When he stepped into the blue-lit corridor, the nagging feeling seemed to multiply. Everything looked in order except for an unseemly bump in his mother's emerald carpet a few feet in front of the guest bedroom.

_Was that there before? _

His eyes scanned the empty hallway. All he could see were the same snugly sleeping portraits, sculptures submerged in ghostly blue shadows, and protruding gold torches that had been there his whole life. But something still felt different.

He walked over the bump and began smoothing it over with his bare foot. As he absentmindedly molded the carpet back into place, a strange thought jumped into his head. He curiously looked up at Granger's door.

_What if she was wandering the manor at night?_

Draco was about to laugh at the absurdity of the thought, but he stopped. His heart skipped a beat. Granger's door was cracked open. Her remembered how angry Granger was a few days before and how _alive _she looked. He remembered how bright she was at Hogwarts and intuitive she could be. He put the two together.

_Had her anger driven her to go out searching for trouble? _

He narrowed his eyes back at the door as if it was Granger herself in the flesh. In his panic, he didn't hesitate to enter the room. He didn't care if she was indecent; he needed to make sure that she was where she was supposed to be.

"Granger?" he called into the dark room, scanning the inky blackness for any sign of the small witch.

"Lumos," he whispered, grabbing hold of his wand from inside his bathrobe pocket. The small bluish-white light that spilled out of the end of his wand filled half of the room. From what was illuminated by his wand, he could tell that Granger was not in the room. A fresh wave of panic hit him.

"Come on Granger," he yelled for the second time, taking two long strides to the side of the bed and thrusting the mass of sheets away. The fitted sheet stared back at him. He rushed to the other end of the room, poking his wand into all the dark corners of the room, under the bed, behind the bookshelf, and in the corners of the closet. No Granger.

"Come on, this isn't funny anymore. I said I was sorry!" he hollered into the clearly empty room. He ran to the bathroom door and yanked it open in one fluid motion. Empty.

"Granger!" he called rushing out of the room. He didn't know what to do.

As he ran down the hallway screaming the witch's name, the sleeping portraits shot awake and started yelling complaints.

"I do beg your pardon, Master Malfoy," an enraged former Hogwarts headmaster squawked, adjusting his fallen monocle.

"Have you seen her?" Draco demanded, halting and holding his wand directly in front of the headmaster's face.

"What are you on about? It is the middle of the night, and I've been sleeping-"

"Have. You. Seen. The witch. She's not in her room,"

The pale old wizard wrinkled his noise in confusion before recognition finally hit him.

"Oh, the mudblood Malfoy mistress? The one you had the friendly argument with earlier? I must say… I don't know. Or care for that matter, Master Malfoy. If anything, you should be ashamed. Your aunt would roll in her grave. Such a incompetent death eater that the Dark Lord had to give you a despicable task-"

"Oh, sod off," Draco interjected, rolling his eyes. "Granger!" he yelled again, with no response other than the overlapping whines of the annoyed painting. He took two deep breaths.

He had two options.

He could wake his mother up and get her involved, but that would mean having to deal with her inevitable rage and bringing up his feelings of incompetence and dependency, or he could find Granger on his own. It was an easy choice; he would go it alone. As soon as he entered the downstairs foyer, he had a feeling she wasn't anywhere to be found. He cast Lumos and zoomed through the rooms, color and light blurring in his vision.

"Granger! Granger! Granger!" he knocked over chairs and table and bookshelves. His ruckus only resulted in more obscenities from portraits and broken vases and nightstands.

He didn't care.

He needed to find her. The thought of losing her was unbearable. She held the key to him not being murdered. She was his only way out, and now she was being a stubborn bitch because she was always a stubborn bitch who didn't think about the consequences of her actions.

For a moment he imagined her laying dead somewhere in the manor. Eyes glossed over in a far-away look, hands above her head like a ballerina, her lips pursed; a know-it-all until the very end.

He wanted to vomit.

He realized in that moment he didn't want her to be dead but only because of the agreement. However, this thought only made his stomach churn more violently.

As he was circling the first floor rooms for the third time, was resulting in an overlap of destruction and inflammatory language from the various paintings, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Erhm, Erhm… Excuse me, Master Malfoy?"

Draco turned sharply, pointing his wand at the source of the noise. When he realized it was the family house-elf, whose name he couldn't remember, he felt angrier than he had the whole night.

"Sod off Sammy. I'm busy," he said, turning away from him. He feared if he looked at its stupid face for too long, he would hex it into oblivion.

"Is Master well-"

"What the fuck does it look like, you stupid animal?" He demanded, stepping away from the creature and levitating an already overturned bookshelf in case Granger was tucked beneath it. "I'm obviously not 'well'. This stupid girl has gone and evaporated into _thin air_. How dare you even approach me in this state you moron. "

He thought the elf would take the hint and get out of his way. But again, the creature cleared his throat to address his agitated master.

"Sonny heard the noise Mr. Malfoy was making and woke up. Is missus missing?"

"_Obviously," _Draco huffed, kicking the bookshelf. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was being irrational again.

_Big fucking surprise of the year. _

If the damn portraits weren't going to be any help, he could at least try the overgrown rat.

"Listen, Sammy, did you see her pass through here, or upstairs or something?" as Draco uttered those words, he didn't even turn to face the creature.

"No Master. But she was very sad when Sonny talked with her. She is a very nice witch. Very good witch. Very pretty witch-,"

"What do you mean when you 'talked with her'?"

"Sonny talked to her two nights before."

Draco clenched his fists.

"What did you talk about?"

"Missus says I should not tell master about the things"

Draco turned and leaned forward, pointing his wand at the creature's throat. Sometimes being direct was the only route wizards could taken when dealing with beasts.

"What did you tell her?" he demanded again, poking his wand into the side of the elf's neck for emphasis.

Sonny's eyes were wide with fear, and his ears stood erect. He was shaking like someone who just went for a swim in the Great Lake in the dead of winter. Draco could hear the elf's teeth chattering.

But the sound was like music to his ears. Because for the second time in 48-hours, the house-elf told a young wizard exactly what they wanted to know.

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><p>.<p>

Hermione was uninhibited. Emancipated. Free.

The tresses of her hair flowed behind her as she propelled herself forward, bending and arching wildly in the wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the fresh air beating against her face. As she raced down across the sprawling meadows of dark grass, her limbs grew weak, but she ignored the mounting pain.

Every foot farther and farther away she got from Malfoy Manor, the feelings of joy become stronger and stronger. She didn't look behind to see what she left. The pain, the embarrassment, the entire arrangement was back there, and she didn't want to have anything to do with it. She was running ahead, looking ahead, reaching for some sign of another human being who could save her and bring her back to the Order.

She was going back to reality.

Being locked away in that dreadful house with the Malfoy psychopaths was becoming detrimental to her mental health. Even now, as she ran across the empty fields of grass towards some invisible end, she felt that something had changed inside her since she left. Some imaginary and crippling lifeline had been cut. The days of her being passive and avoiding what happened during the war were over. A page had turned.

She was running with total abandon in a way she never thought she could.

She was crying, and her tears felt cold as they dried on her cheeks. But she kept running ahead, trying her best to keep focus.

_Priorities._

Herminie kept running.

She was mid-leap when he stopped her, casting a binding spell from a half a mile behind her, halting the witch's bounds and sending her entire body to the ground.

All of a sudden the wonderful blur of darkness was replaced with the endless starry night sky. It reminded Hermione of a blanket she had was little. It was blue and purple with specks of ivory stars. She used to crawl under the blanket with a flashlight and read for hours. When she looked up at the blanket it would remind her how small the world was. The blanket of stars that gleamed above her now made her feel the opposite about reality. The world was too big for her. Too complicated.

She tried to move her legs but they wouldn't budge. Her mouth was filled with dirt from the rough impact with the ground. Her arms were pinned tightly under her body and they felt weak.

She thought she was dying.

When an out-of-breath and distressed Draco finally caught up to her fallen body several minutes later, she realized that she could still move her hands. In that same moment, she realized that she could never escape him. There would be no more running.

So she screamed.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

He saw her figure from a mile away.

It was Granger. He was sure of it.

As he raised his wand to hex her with a leg-locking curse, a sense of relief like he never felt before swept over him. At the same time, his heart swelled with elation, confusion and anger. He was elated because he found her, confused because he didn't understand why he was so happy to see that she was alive, and angry at her for managing to escape the manor. She had gotten a fair distance away. She might have actually had a fair shot of escaping. Of course Granger would resort to bribing stupid animals to get what she wanted.

Maybe she had forgotten to whom the elf would be loyal when it came down to its life.

When he ran up to her, he spent a moment observing her before speaking. All the impassioned speeches he recited to her in his head while he was storming the mansion looking for her seemed to dissipate when he saw her lying on the ground. It was almost like his reaction to her during their awkward meals the first few days. He couldn't be angry seeing her like that.

She was crying.

It was awful. Her face was blotchy and red, her eyes blood shot from the strain. She was twisting the parts of her body that she could control in odd motions. The hex pinned her legs straight, but she was flapping her arms around like an angry bird.

As a result of her twisting, a lock of chestnut brown hair spilled into the corner of her mouth. For some unexplainable reason, Draco longed to reach over and pull it out.

Somewhere in the middle of her bucking, she saw him. And she started screaming.

The sound was animalistic, raw, and chilling. It scared him more than anything else had that night. It was like the way she cried during the battle but amplified. She turned to face him, screaming all the while, tears pouring out of her eyes like water out of a faucet.

"Grang-"

"NO! NO! MALFOY! NO DRACO!" she yelled between coughs.

"It's okay," he tried, lowering his voice and taking a step closer. He wanted to hex her, but something stopped him

"NO! YOU CAN"T HURT ME! YOU CAN'T! LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU NEVER LEAVE ME ALONE! I WANT TO DIE! LET ME DIE! I WANT TO DIE! NO!"

"It's okay," he whispered again, this time kneeling awkwardly a foot away from her. He could have stopped her lamentations with a flick of his wand, but something told him not to. Something told him that she needed this.

"LEAVE! NOW!" she screamed, craning her neck to spit in his direction. Draco watched it fall into the grass an inch in front of him. "I DON'T WANT THIS! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! I WANT HARRY! I WANT RON! HOGWARTS! I WANT MY FRIENDS! YOU TOOK THEM AWAY! YOU TOOK _EVERYTHING_ AWAY! NO! I HAVE NOTHING! I'M NOTHING…" her words trailed off into her sobs as she closed her eyes and indulged in her suffering.

Draco had never seen another human being behave like this before. Of course there was the time he stood before Dumbledore at the astronomy tower when he became…emotional, and there where the times when Pansy cried about various trifles, but those instances were not like this. Piercing, wild, uncontrolled. There was nothing he could do except let her cry.

"YOU ARE PURE EVIL!" she continued wiping her palm against her wet cheek, and hiccupping tersely before continuing. "NO!" she repeated, shanking her head as if she came to some physical conclusion. "YOU WON'T HURT ME! NOT _YOU_ OF ALL PEOPLE! I AM NO ONE'S WHORE! ALL OF YOU KILLED HARRY!"

She broke into sobs again and Draco watched the drenched lock of hair fall out of her mouth. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he didn't say a word. A rush of cold air inflated the inside of his nightshirt, the blue striped fabric in the wind. It fell lightly back on his chest. He shuddered.

"Harry!" she screeched, her voice cracking slightly. She faced away from him and looked up at the stars, tears still welling up in her eyes.

In that moment, Draco felt something that he shouldn't have. It was subtle and snuck up on him, but he had a feeling it was always there, bubbling under the surface like his family's fear. He tried to resist it as he did with things that he didn't want to deal with, but seeing her like that, staring away from him and up at the cloudless sky, a faraway look in her eyes, made him feel connected to her.

He understood how she felt in that moment. Because he felt the same way, not only this past year, but perhaps all his life. He knew she felt completely lost and hopeless like the whole world was too huge and complicated for her. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could censor them.

"I know."

"_You…" _she sneered, as if noticing him for the first time. She lunged in his direction, but the curse hadn't been lifted, and it kept her legs in place like a jack in the box toy.

She was angry again.

The problem was that he_ did_ know, but he didn't, and he didn't want to. It was all becoming awfully confusing to the blond.

"_You DON'T know," _she hissed, begging to furiously pump her fists in his direction. She was apparently trying to hit him.

"I know," he whispered again carefully leaning forward.

Her fist hit his chest with a thud, and the second, harder blow landed on the side of his stomach. She threw decent punches for a girl, but she was still no match for the wizard, who towered above her on his knees.

"STOP! NO! DON'T HURT ME! DON'T RAPE ME!"

She was beside herself, punching, hitting every inch of his body that she could reach.

"I know, I know, I know," was all he said, grabbing both of her wrists in his hands, trying stop her blows.

Her skin felt softer than he expected. He didn't know why, but he always imagined muggleborns having scaly, dry skin. But her wrists felt so…human. He was not expecting that.

He restrained her hands to her sides and she continued to scream her abuses at him.

All he could manage in return was, "I know, Granger. I know," hoping she would calm down.

He remembered when he was a child and his mother would rock him in her arms when he was throwing a tantrum. He would resist her grip as much as physically possible, twisting and kicking, trying to remain enraged. But even then, her arms seemed to quiet him after struggling.

After some time, Granger grew quiet. Just sniffles and hiccups. He still had her wrists restrained tightly on either side of her. He was careful not to touch any other part of her body.

Granger closed her eyes. Her face was blotchy from all the crying.

Maybe she knew he wasn't going to hurt her. By the way she kept bringing it up, he wasn't sure what to expect when it came to that topic.

Draco careful removed his hands.

"Are you alright now?"

No response.

"Alright then…we are going back to the house. Please don't try anything. I have a wand," he continued stupidly.

She didn't move an inch.

Draco sighed. Of course he could apparate with her back to the manor easily. But that irritable feeling rose in his chest once again and he knew he would have to do something else.

He reached underneath her legs and behind her back, slowly pulling her closer to him. When he picked her up in his arms, she was much lighter than he expected her to be.

As he began walking in the direction of the manor, she shuffled a little in his arms, obviously uncomfortable.

"Don't fight me, Granger," he whispered, catching a whiff of her odd florescent scent. It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. He hadn't meant for that.

He walked for two minutes before she finally surrendered, and, to his displeasure, rested her head against his chest.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

He was to be the third-in-command at Department of International Magical Cooperation. Level Five of the Ministry of Magic.

First of all, even Draco understood that most International communities would be wary of "Cooperating" with a Voldemort-controlled Ministry of Magic. He couldn't understand why the Dark Lord didn't just get rid of the branch as a whole. Draco didn't really see him as the poster child for international peace and conflict resolution.

Secondly, it was mental that he was able to get such a high-profile position. Of course, he always assumed that his family's connections would eventually lead to successful employment opportunities, but there was still something symbolic about completing school at Hogwarts and passing a ministry placement exam.

But now that Voldemort had won, things were different.

So he shouldn't have been surprised when his mother announced that she had 'taken care' of his employment situation, and he would start the following week. Maybe Voldemort had been busy handing out positions to more 'loyal' Death Eaters before he finally made his way around to the Malfoys.

Draco had no idea how his former crowd would receive him once he returned to the 'real world.' He didn't know how many people knew about his father. He wasn't even sure if his father was still working at the Ministry. His mother didn't tell him about those sorts of things. He was certain that he did not want to see him when he did start working.

He was certain that rumor had spread about Granger. How would people receive him or his family? He was unsure that he would be welcomed with open arms because he was chosen for such a 'special' task, or sneered at because it was disgraceful. He and his mother's isolation following the war only created more questions.

Though he hated to admit it, there was a part of Draco that was secretly reluctant to leave Granger in the manor. Since her failed escape, Draco went out of his way to make sure she stayed out of trouble, but after her emotional ordeal, the task was easier than he expected.

If her temperament was silent before their first fight and enraged after, she was somewhere in between now.

She did not attempt to fight with him outright, but he could tell she didn't like him being around her as often as he was. She would wrinkle her noise in displeasure or glance at him briefly and turn away when he walked into her room at night.

Sometimes she would make underhanded, snarky comments about him, but he could tell they did not have the same malice behind them as they once did.

Something broke in Hermione Granger the day that she tried to escape Malfoy Manor.

She wasn't exactly calm, but she also wasn't the annoying know-it-all he knew in school. He would ask her yes or no questions and she would answer or nod. Only rarely did she ignore him.

Since the night of her escape, he had made one thing clear to her to prevent her from crafting any crazy escape plans in the near future: if she tried to escape again, he would kill the house-elf, regardless of its involvement or lack thereof.

Yes, he knew it was brutal and perhaps excessive, but it was necessary to get his point across. He also knew how much she loved magical creatures (after having Care of Magical Creatures with her for six years, it was impossible not to know), and it seemed like the only way to get through to her.

He remembered how her eyes widened in fear and how she averted her gaze. She waited a moment before nodding curtly.

He also made it clear that her failed escape would remain between the two of them, and if she tried anything else during her time in the manor, he would tell his mother who could easily tell the Death Eaters.

Yes, that also wasn't exactly true either, but he didn't think Hermione was frightened by his mother. All her obsession with 'the plan' and making Granger feel at home was really taking away her once-threating edge. And he didn't even want to get started about what Granger could possibly think about him now.

He had all of the elf's passages leading outside of the manor sealed off. The only people who could apparate into the grounds were Death Eaters.

In the week since her escape, he came into her room for about an hour or so each night to make sure she stayed out of trouble. At least, that's what he told himself he was doing.

What he actually did was sit in the armchair adjacent to the massive bookshelf and get lost in his own thoughts, while Granger, on the opposite side of the room, sat on the floor, cross-legged, scribbling in some journal.

"Where'd you get that?" he demanded the first time he saw her with it, after she turned briefly to look at him when he walked in before turning away.

She kept scribbling.

"Granger," Draco said.

She turned to him again and narrowed her eyes before nodding at the bookshelf.

"Are you going to take a journal away from me too?" she spat under her breath, but Draco heard her. He didn't say anything in response.

Maybe it was one of his mother's old notebooks that she'd taken for her own. She probably burned out his mother's pages.

Mudblood twat.

But the words were losing their old meaning. He knew he should have called her names or insulted her intelligence for such a stupid failed escape, but it was almost if something was stopping him from being his old self.

Maybe something broke inside of him the night she tried to escape, but he didn't want to think about it.

So the plan was in a semi-hiatus until Granger was sorted…if that ever happened.

Sometimes at night, when she had her back turned to him furiously scribbling, he would stare at her. He watched the rise and fall of her back with every breath, the way she briefly stopped writing at times to think about her next words and put the end of her quill in her mouth, and how she tilted her head to the right when she wrote slower passages.

As he sat entranced by the petite witch, his mind would wander to the night she escaped and how her head felt against his chest…

It took him a few seconds before he realized what he was doing, and he always stopped himself.

Her quirks were annoying.

And so was she.

He just wished he didn't have to keep reminding himself.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Sonny didn't know that Dobby was dead, just that he was Dobby's replacement.

His eyes widened as Hermione told him the story of her first time at Malfoy Manor and the events of Shell Cottage.

"Oh dear," the elf said anxiously, looking down at the floor between them. "Dobby was a good elf. A strong elf-"

"A free elf," Hermione finished smiling sadly. "He was my friend."

"Elves is not supposed to be friends with wizards," he said nervously, just realizing he was alone in the room with the witch. He tapped his bony fingers against his robes. "That is how house-elves get into trouble like Sonny did for helping miss-"

"You can call me Hermione, Sonny."

"Sonny knows, but miss tried to do very bad thing last time she was friends with Sonny." He blushed and pulled one of his ears over his golf-ball-sized eyes bashfully. "Mr. Malfoy would not like it."

Hermione smiled again, and placed her quill into the leather journal in her lap before closing it.

"I don't see anything wrong with us being friends, Sonny. I actually think you are the most morally upright being in this whole mansion. And anyways, you don't have to worry about me doing anything dangerous for now."

That was true. After Malfoy's unpleasant threats, she had to admit that, for the time being, nothing good would come out of escaping. The next time she tried, she promised herself she would bring Sonny with her. That's part of the reason she needed to spend time building his trust.

Sonny didn't look convinced.

"But you are still a witch. Witches and house-elves are not supposed to be friends," he said, nodding his head as if he was cementing some internal conclusion.

"Let me let you in on a little secret," Hermione said, leaning over her empty plate of food. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she and the creature were at eye-level with one another. Since he obviously was not used to humans being in such proximity, he leaned back in fear.

"_I'm a slave too,_" she whispered. "I'm like you."

"What does miss mean?

Hermione smiled sadly again.

"Wizards and witches, especially the Malfoys, think I am less-than-human because of the way I was born. They hate me because of who I am, and that's why I'm here. They locked me away and they want Draco to hurt me because of who I am and what I stand for. So I can't leave, and I have to do what they say. I am like you. They took away my options."

She decided to leave the part out about how they were planning on killing her. She knew how house-elves didn't take bad news well.

Hermione watched as the elf changed from anxious to intrigued.

"You are still a witch-"

"I know, I know, but when I'm here, I'm not," she pulled the empty pockets up out of Narcissa's robe to illustrate her next point. "See, no wand."

Sonny looked slightly less frightened than before.

"Friends?" she asked holding out her hand.

He hesitated before responding.

"Sonny will think about it, miss," he said, ignoring her outstretched hand bowing tersely.

Hermione sighed and retreated her hand.

It was actually a decent start when it came to a house-elf. She remembered how long it took Harry and her to convert Dobby, and these two elves had the same masters.

Hermione reached into her lap to pick up her makeshift journal and continue writing, but Sonny's voice stopped her.

"Miss he will not hurt you. He is a good boy. Sad boy, but a good boy. He cannot hurt."

Hermione lowered the journal and shot the creature a confused look.

"Who?"

"Master Malfoy."

It took her a moment to reconcile what the elf said with the image of Malfoy.

She sighed.

Of course the Malfoys had brainwashed the elf into thinking they were the absolute best wizards to walk the face of the Earth. The poor thing probably wasn't capable of bad-mouthing them.

"I wish that was true, Sonny, but wizards like Draco like to hurt people. He has hurt me in the past and he likes when other people are in pain. _That's who he is_."

"Sonny know Master for a long time. He is angry sometimes, but he cannot hurt in the way bad wizards can. He is a good boy. The past year he is very, very sad and has many people telling him many things. Sometimes he don't know what to listen to. Sonny comes to clean Master's room, and he sit at his desk alone in dark. He is always alone. And sad, very sad. Only since battle is finished he gets less angry,"

Hermione's facial expression did not change, but she felt something she shouldn't have for Draco Malfoy in that moment. _Remorse_, or something suspiciously like it, filled her chest. The images were just too unsettling. She never thought of the possibly of him being affected by being assigned to kill Dumbledore, any more than he was by getting assigned her.

As Sonny turned to leave, he stopped in front of the door.

"Miss?" he asked.

"Hmm," Hermione responded, lost in her own thought about Draco.

"It is funny."

"What's funny?"

"You say the Malfoys is bad because they judge wizards cause of who they is. But miss also says that Master is bad because of who he is. You says Master did not give you chance, but it sounds to Sonny missus does not give master chance either."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**Yay! New chapter! So things are moving right along with the relationship haha. I hope the pace is not maddening for you guys, good things happen for those who wait ;)**

** As always, thanks to '**arosesinnocence' for beta-ing. She put up with a lot of mess with this chapter so I wanted to thank her soooo much. ****

****And thanks to all you who have reviewed so far! And those who haven't, don't be shy I want to know what you think! ****

****Questions? Comments? Concerns? Ya'll know what to do! ****

****-marrymealittle ****


	7. Breaking Down

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended. **

CHAPTER 7: Breaking Down

"I don't understand it, and I don't like what I don't understand."

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

There was _something_ sinister lurking amongst the purple pillars, in-between the zombie-like rows of shuffling downcast wizards and witches, and peeping under the polished golden statues that made the Ministry of Magic feel like a completely different place from the place his father worked years before. Be it the new element of dark magic, or even the same fear that he realized was a driving force for his family all these years, whatever it was, was _waiting_, bubbling fiercely under the polished exterior of the ancient Ministry. It sent shivers down his spine and made his the palms of his hand sweaty.

It was everywhere. Yet it was nowhere at all.

Ministry workers brushed past him hurriedly, not stopping to make eye contact or even glance at the Malfoy heir. A part of him was actually glad that people were not gaping at him as he thought they would, but the disconnect between people in Draco's new workplace seemed even worse to the young wizard. He had never seen so many people who seemed to be in the same place at the same time, but on entirely different planets.

It was almost as if people had stopped caring about others, and started living only for themselves.

This is what a Voldemort victory truly meant.

Everyone was shuffling to where they needed to be, speaking in hushed tones and glancing over their backs every few seconds as if someone was watching every move and listening to every hushed syllable. Maybe someone was.

Draco felt anxious again as he thought of his predicament with Hermione and of Voldemort's warning to him the finial day of the battle.

.

.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Zabini exclaimed in a tone laced with amusement. "If it isn't the Malfoy heir, back from the dead-"

"Shove it Zabini," Draco hissed, using his shoulder to roughly push past the chuckling wizard. "Not interested in the bullshit today-"

"Bullshit?" Blaise questioned, unsuccessfully disguising the mirth in his voice. " Really? Malfoy, I wouldn't consider noticing your absence as 'bullshit'. We honestly didn't know what happened to you after the war; you basically fell off the face of the planet-"

"Maybe I liked it better that way," Draco muttered halfheartedly, entering the office that he and Zabini had to share.

It was large, about the size of his bedroom at the Manor.

It had a simply layout. Two desks, one with his name engraved on a nameplate and another with Zabini's. Two plush red armchairs sat behind the desks. The chair that apparently belonged to Zabini was twisted outward and the desk was cluttered, with parchments strewn about the surface of the wood and piled gracelessly in all four corners of the desk. Evidently, Blaise had been working for some time.

'_But then again_,' Draco reminded himself, '_Zabini was always an unorganized twat._'

"I'm just a little concerned, Malfoy," Blaise continued, apparently oblivious to the fact Draco was only half-listening. "You haven't seen me since the battle, and the first thing you tell me to do is 'shove it'? That could have waited until I showed you around a bit-"

"I don't need you showing me around, Zabini," he retorted, setting his leather briefcase on his desk. "Just bugger off-"

"But don't you want to know what's been going on? Rumor has it that you've been locked away at home this whole time-"

"_You_ of all people should know that you can't believe everything you hear."

Even though Zabini was correct in that he _had _been locked up in his house since the war ended, he didn't want Blaise to get the idea that he'd spent the time at home with his mother. Draco's old group of friends had a history of taunting him for his reliance on his mom, but he figured the insults came from jealousy, particularly because Zabini always had a turbulent relationship with his own husband-hopping mum; however, he still cringed when someone made an underhanded remark about his relationship with Narcissa. "Speaking of which, how's your mother doing? Or rather _who's _your mother doing?"

Blaise shot Draco a fake look of surprise, and placed his hand over his heart. "Really, Malfoy? Having a go already? You haven't even had your afternoon tea."

Draco stole a moment to observe his comrade.

Blaise was still as slim and angular as when he last saw him with the same tight-lipped Slytherin smirk and dark, hooded eyes. Draco could see stress lines in his old friend's face and dark circles under his eyes. He was exhausted. It was the same expression that he saw in the mirror every morning. Blaise's face did not at all look like the face of a man whose side had won a war a few weeks ago.

"I'll have you know, the last time I saw you, you and Crabbe were running after Potter and his gang into the Room of Requirement. You came out, but Crabbe didn't, " Blaise continued, folding his hands over the knee of his crossed leg. He looked at Draco pensively. "_Actually, _there was the whole ordeal that followed Potter's death, rather … yes, _that_ was the last time I saw you, mate, and it certainly was not under pleasant circumstances-"

"Exactly why I don't want to talk about it," Draco snapped. "So why don't you just mind your own business-"

"_Alright, alright_," Blaise quipped, grinning widely and throwing his hands up in surrender. "You always _were_ testy, mate. Just having a go. I should have known you would be upset. I'm just glad that you're alright."

Draco frowned.

Blaise had never spoken to him like that before. He almost sounded _concerned _about Draco's well-being. The two wizards had the sort of companionship where they _knew_ that they were friends, but they never talked about all the things that went along with that notation. They knew that if anything were to happen to the other, there would be some level of concern that would bound the two together, but verbally saying these things out loud made him feel silly. It was impossible to define. Draco had never been good at having "friends".

He always brushed friendships off as a sort of weakness reserved for people like Granger's clan, but there was some level of trust that he read in Blaise's eyes that was hard to ignore.

Draco was not sure how to respond. He wasn't sure if he even felt the same amount of worry about for other wizard or not.

"Well, anyway," Blaise said, breaking the silence. "I thought you would like to know what people were thinking of you."

"What do you mean?" Draco hissed, and, despite his edgy tone, he was relieved that the awkward moment was over.

Blaise hopped of the side of his desk and slid into his chair.

"I mean regarding what happened after the battle. You know, _what the Dark Lord's asked you to do with Potter's mate._ Everyone thinks you're a god-"

"Seriously? Right, Zabini, and my mother will be sporting a house-elf smock at the next 'Witch Weekly' summer brunch. Things are not that simple. People probably think I'm scum."

"No, they save that for your daddy."

Draco's spine straightened in agitation at the mention of his father.

"We all knew he was a useless twat, so don't be too hard on yourself because your mum's gone and asked him to sod off. It will get better, trust me; stepdads aren't as bad after the third," Blaise grinned again at his own joke and continued. "But, everyone has been practically _worshipping_ you since Potter kicked the bucket. First of all, you got a special mission from the Dark Lord himself - _again_ - but this time it is so much more honorable. All the Death Eaters, - even I - would kill to be in your shoes. Over the past month, witches have come to this office by the bundles asking if you've come to work yet… I can only imagine why. And this job; think of it Malfoy. Department of International Magical Cooperation? The Dark Lord was not so generous to many of his followers-"

"Zabini don't bullshit me. I know the truth," Draco interrupted darkly. He could feel his emotional barriers crumbling as irritation and disbelief took place. "I'm stuck with the mudblood bitch, and my father disgraced my family. I don't think people have been planning a giant 'wizard of the year' party in these past few weeks."

Yet Blaise's expression remained completely earnest. If he had one redeeming quality that proved him to be useful during his time at Hogwarts, it was his annoying truthful nature. Draco could always tell when Blaise was being honest. He shifted uncomfortably as he realized now was one of those moments.

_People were admiring him for having to bed Granger? _

"Well, once you get your head out of your arse and start being grateful instead of complaining like a first-year pansy, I'm sure you will be able to see all these things for yourself. I already assumed that you knew, hence why you were locked up all this time in the Manor. Having your way with Granger? I can't blame you Malfoy; get things rolling right away before you start working and surround yourself with all _this_ shit. But I guess I was wrong about you-"

"_That's_ what you think I was doing this whole time?" Draco choked, eyes wide with skepticism. "Shagging Granger?"

"Well, that's what the Dark Lord asked you to do, so that's what- I mean, really, Malfoy? You haven't been?"

"_That's not YOUR territory I'm afraid_," Draco snarled, sliding off his own desk in agitation.

His heart was beating rapidly, and he felt the sudden urge to deck Blaise in the face.

"Okay, okay, okay, fine, you don't want to talk about her. We won't talk about her then. I just thought you would like to know that your life isn't over. Anyway, let me fill you in on what we've got to do."

As the day progressed and Draco became less agitated with the other wizard's presence, Blaise told him about how the wizarding world was now cowering under Voldemort's thumb.

The Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's, and Hogwarts were stacked with Death Eaters and sympathizers from all magical walks of life, serving only those who were certified pureblood, and otherwise magically "pure". Voldemort decreed himself Minster for Magic, Head Healer at St. Mungo's, and Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Triple threat," Draco said jokingly, but Blaise shot up and shushed him. He informed him in a strained voice that people had to be careful what they said no matter _who_ they were.

Voldemort had not yet started murdering muggles, but people were disappearing left and right, in the same way they had been before the war. That was part of the reason none of the Death Eaters were dismayed about his father's absence.

The Muggle-Born Registration Commission and the snatchers units had doubled their efforts since Potter's death, murdering on the spot anyone suspected to be either of 'impure' blood or a blood-traitor, or enslaving them to pureblood families. He even noted that Granger was lucky to be one of the enslaved, to which Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Blaise also informed him that some unidentified members of the Order managed to escape the battle, and now had hefty warrants out for their arrests.

Their job at the Ministry was simple and straightforward: to make sure that the leaders of foreign wizarding governments remained subordinate to Voldemort's law by any means necessary. Draco was technically third in command to Ferris Deway, a Death Eater who led Voldemort's operations in North Africa during the war. To his pleasure, he learned that Blaise was ranked one step below him, more of an assistant than an equal.

When Draco tried nonchalantly to inquire about the comment Blaise made earlier about witches being interested in him all of a sudden, he laughed and shrugged, claiming that, to pureblood girls, special missions from the Dark Lord, old money, and tall, handsome blond men trumped mudblood mistresses and bad family situations.

Draco didn't know how to feel about that.

However one thing was certain, his job the the Ministry of Magic symbolized a rather large stepping stone in Draco Malfoy's short life.

He was officially part of the very circle that his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and so on worked tirelessly to manufacture and preserve. His Lord had defeated his childhood enemy, and now his family's dream of having the world racially purified would be reality. He was heir of the Malfoy inheritance since he came of age, and he now had a comfy job at a ministry full of people who apparently adored him and where he could easily snake up the ladder as the years passed. He would have no trouble getting married and maybe one day his pre-war fantasy of having everyone fuck off would be realized.

Even if the 'Granger problem' were a pain in the arse to deal with now, he and his mother would eventually find some way to get her off their hands, and before he knew it, she would be dead.

He should have been happy.

But oddly enough, he still felt like shit.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Hermione went through the list again silently, pressing the quill firmly under each word as if it was the object itself tossed upon the leather-bound journal.

_The Diary_.

Check. Destroyed second year in the Chamber of Secrets by Harry.

_The Ring_.

Check. Destroyed by Dumbledore.

_The Locket._

Check. Destroyed by Ron with the Sword of Gryffindor.

_The Cup._

Check. Destroyed by her in the Chamber of Secrets with the basilisk fang.

_The Diadem. _

Check. Destroyed by a combination of Harry, Ron and Crabbe in the fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.

_The Snake. _

Check. Killed by Neville with the Sword of Gryffindor before she and Ron ran back into the Great Hall during the battle.

_Harry. _

She paused and stared at her friend's name etched sloppily underneath the inconspicuous list of objects as if was just another thing to be thrown away.

Just another thing to be destroyed.

Check. Murdered in the Battle for Hogwarts by Voldemort.

She sighed sadly and tried to remain focused, not allowing her mind go back to her tortuous mental list of people and things that she had lost. If she was serious about not letting her friends die in vain, she needed to remain level-headed.

So that left one more horcrux.

Voldemort's physical body.

Herminie squinted and slipped off the edge of the Malfoy's bed in concentration.

From what she could remember from her reading, horcruxes only made a wizard, or in Voldemort's case, a _creature_, weaker. So there was no way the Dark Lord would be in strong physical condition after splitting his soul into eight pieces and having all but one destroyed. Creating even _more _horcruxes would only make him weaker, so Hermione logically ruled that option out. However, she knew to never underestimate what Voldemort was capable of.

For all intents and purposes, he was weaker and less human than ever.

As Hermione analyzed these facts, she let a small scrap of hope warm her weary soul.

_Maybe things were not as bad as they seemed. All someone needed was one strong killing curse…_

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear Draco slide into the room and press his back to the opposite wall, his grey eyes latched to her back like hooks.

"Stop it, Malfoy," she hissed when she noticed his darkened figure, slamming the journal shut. She didn't mind journaling in front of him, but the horcrux business was too important to be entrenched in while Draco was lounging around her room.

"I haven't done anything," he said lazily, admiring the black bookshelf as he sunk into the sofa opposite to the witch.

She turned briefly and shot him a stern look. He was wearing black trousers and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons undone. His hair was matted and ruffled, in a way it never was at Hogwarts. In the golden embers of the fireplace, he almost looked serene.

But Hermione knew better.

Even from the dim firelight, she saw the black edges of his tattooed evil on his left forearm, which, at the moment was tossed causally over the top of the loveseat.

Anger boiled in her gut.

_This prat lived while Harry didn't?_

It wasn't fair.

Maybe it was because she was thinking of Voldemort's divided soul, or maybe it was Malfoy's comfortable demeanor and her quick visual reminder of just how evil he was, but she felt like having a row with the blond Slytherin. Even though she knew he did not want to be in this predicament either, she needed to take her anger out on someone.

It just made sense.

"But you're going to. You always sit here self-righteously every night like you're my father or something, like I'm going to run off again when I thought I already made it clear that it wouldn't happen. And you stare at me like I'm the most interesting thing on the planet. Then when I catch you starting at me, you pretend like you were looking at the fireplace or something equally as uninteresting. But I'm not crazy, and I know you are strangely fixated on me, and don't think that you are hiding it because you are very obvious, Malfoy."

She heard an affronted scoff that was not at all as angry as she expected. He almost sounded as if it were instead the response to an old friend's sarcastic joke.

"Right Granger, and I have a shrine dedicated to you locked up in my room. Maybe I should also mention the fact that I write down the number of breaths you take every night. I've got a chart in the kitchen, you see, to help keep track. I like to follow the Dark Lord's order's very _closely_-"

"Shut up! Its not funny, Malfoy!" she spat, balling her shaking hands into fists. "You're a sick bastard. Stop staring at me. And for that matter, stop coming here at night; I can take care of myself."

There was a silence as Hermione stared down at the green carpet, her breaths labored from the strain of awaiting Draco's inevitable explosion.

It never happened.

"Nope, sorry Granger," he said, briskly, almost cheerfully, as if he was trying to stifle a laugh.

If there was one thing that Hermione hated, it was when people discounted her emotions as a big joke. And that fact he was Malfoy, only made it worse.

"Got to make sure you don't get into any more sodding trouble," he continued. "I know it likes to follow you and that you like to find it at all costs, so I think its better to make sure you continue to make the wonderful life choices that you have been making recently."

"Selfish prick."

"Stupid mudblood."

"Get new material, Malfoy."

"Go get Potter and Weasley back, mudblood."

"Go get your father back, then." As soon as Hermione said it, she didn't even need to face him to know she hit a nerve.

"You know fucking nothing about my father, so don't you dare open your mouth as if you're an expert on _anything_ that happens in this house-"

"Well I know he is not here. There is a Narcissa and a Draco, but something is missing. I'm sure if he were around, he would have been up here countless times to harass me and throw pathetic insults my way every occasion he got. But I haven't seen him since I got here. He's left your mother hasn't he?"

"None of your damn business, Granger."

"What is it? Is he embarrassed of you lot? Because of me?"

"Granger, I will not tell you again. _Do not discuss my father_. Ifyou do not chose to stop, I will _make _you stop," Hermione could practically envision him reaching into his pocket to finger his wand behind her back.

It was her time to scoff.

"So nowadays you are jumping to use magic? Don't you think that would have been a bit more useful when you tried to kill Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy tower? It certainly would have saved you some time. I heard you spent quite a bit of that time _crying. _If you ask me, you should have cut straight around to the killing curse-"

She was so fixated on soft material of the velvet curtains directly in front of her, that she didn't notice Draco jolt out of the chair and saunter over to her, until she felt his hand grip the back of her neck.

He pulled her up firmly so that they were facing each other eye to eye, and waves of fresh panic coursed through Hermione's body.

Draco looked more infuriated than she had ever seen him, more enraged than their first fight and all of their subsequent fights at Hogwarts combined. A small blue vein in his chalky white forehead was throbbing and his teeth were bared like a rancid dog.

He was still gripping the back of her neck; not tightly, but tight enough to let her know she would not be able to brush him off without a fight.

"_If I were you, I would watch what I say_," he growled, every word forming a gust of tight warm air against her cheek. "I won't say it again. _My father _and my _past _experiences with the Dark Lord are none of your business. You are correct: _no_, he is not here, but that is all that you need to know. _Understand_?"

Hermione's breath hitched in fear as she realized a snarky remark would be unwise. She nodded in compliance.

"Good. Will you try to toss around insults about my father or what happened in sixth year in the future?"

Hermione gulped and shook her head timidly. She prayed to Merlin that her eyes would not meet his.

She could feel them on her, invading every pore, every freckle, and every line carefully, as if daring her to say something.

His grip felt like an iron clamp on the back of her neck. It was firm but somehow not painful.

She felt one last breath of warm air before he lowered his hand and shoved past her to return to the loveseat in the same laid-back position as before as if nothing happened.

Hermione's knees were weak. She was shaking all over, and as she tried to regain her balance, she grew light-headed. She could still feel the warm whisper of his breath against her skin and the imprint of his hand on the back of her neck left her feeling flushed.

She promised herself since the day he carried her carefully back to the Manor in his arms that she would never be that physically close to him again.

She was proving herself wrong constantly since Harry and Ron died.

"You're mental," she whispered, so quietly, she didn't think he could hear.

"_Institutionalized_, " he sneered, throwing his arm back over the top of the sofa and smirking.

Hermione crawled back onto the bed and sat cross-legged directly in the middle, causing the silk sheets to ripple around her.

They both regarded each other for a few private moments.

"You know, Muggles have all kinds of schools of thoughts about people like you," Hermione said, adjusting her body order to sit cross-legged.

"_Oh do they?" _he mimicked in a high-pitched voce that did not resemble Hermione's at all. "Please tell me more because I am _dying_-"

"You have all kinds of pathological personalities," she continued inquisitively, resting her chin in her hand. "You know, I really _do_ feel bad for you-"

"Well I'm not the one who is going to be licked by the Dark Lord, so you shouldn't be the one feeling bad, Granger," he said briskly, glaring into the fireplace.

"While that may be _true_, I just thought you would like to know that you are a completely neurotic individual. I mean, look at any major psychologist, no matter how outdated their work is considered. You fit the criteria for an unhealthy person on all accounts. Freud, Jung, Maslow… oh dear Malfoy, they would have had a field day if they had met someone like you. You are a walking psychological experiment in the flesh. "

"Granger, I don't give damn about your Muggle bullshit-"

"Right, of course you don't. You probably think that the theories are unsupported because they were created by Muggles, and that they can't be applied to wizards like yourself because they are somehow 'Muggle only'. Well, I assure you that human nature is the same no matter who you are, or where you come from."

"Hmm mmmh," he offered halfheartedly, closing his eyes. He looked somehow more tired than he usually did during his nightly visits.

_What was he up to? _

He leaned back almost peacefully in the loveseat; his demeanor in stark contrast to the fiery outburst he had minutes before.

Hermione shook her head.

_Absolutely neurotic. _

"You know which theorist's work comes to mind when I think of you?" she offered, narrowing her eyes at his relaxed figure.

"Hmm?" he purred a second time.

Hermione grind her teeth and glared at him.

"Karen Horney. She is one of the most famous Neo-Freudian psychologists of the 20th century. She did extensive research about the neurotic personality. Meaning, she discovered all kinds of research about _sick bastards_ like you. I have been thinking. I think you have a neurosis for moving _against _people."

Draco said nothing.

"Translation, you are a selfish prick-"

"You already said that Granger," he said in a bored voice, eyes still shut.

"No, let me finish. Horney theorized that people who think this way try to control, hurt, and manipulate others to make themselves feel better about how truly pathetic they are. People like that are so afraid of being hurt by other people that they try to hurt everyone else before others hurt them. They want to be the best and the brightest, and in order to cover up their insecurities, they manipulate and exploit others. I see it again and again in _you_. _You _took advantage of all your Slytherin cronies at school to get what you wanted, and _you_ were constantly degrading and harassing my friends to make yourself feel better. _You_ hurt other people to exalt yourself and hide your own fears."

Her short speech left another silence in the air of the spare bedroom.

She realized this silence was due to fact that Draco was _actually _thinking about her statements, trying to pick them apart in his mind.

_He was listening to her._

It made her flush with surprise. Based on his earlier reactions, she assumed he would automatically dismiss her, especially since her whole speech was drenched in examples of his own shortcomings.

Him listening to her was not in alignment with his personality at all.

"I guess if _I'm _that way," he started slowly, opening his eyes. "Then _you're _that way too."

Hermione made a terse sound of disbelief.

"Oh come off it. Disregarding the fact that you knew nothing about post-Freudian psychology until I brought it up tonight, calling me a 'moving against people' neurotic is a bit of a stretch. Don't take the blame off yourself and try to shove it onto me-"

"By you labeling me with all this bullshit, aren't you taking the responsibility off yourself and your own actions by instantly assuming they don't apply to you-"

"Well they don't! I do not try to hurt people to make myself feel better, or manipulate people -"

"Is that so?" he snapped. "Then what was all the bitching about when I walked into the room earlier? I wasn't the one who started this argument, Granger. _You _came at _me, _wands blazing, like a mad-witch. And you manipulated the house-elf for your escape. _You're _frustrated about your circumstances so you take it on me, even though you know that I did not choose to have you as much as you didn't chose me! _You_ openly ignore that I have been on my best behavior, apart from times where _you_ have started with me first. And not to mention all this 'don't rape me, don't, touch me, don't look at me funny' shit you keep going fucking on about. Its like you want to portray me as some evil monster and make me feel disgusted with myself before I can actually hurt _you_. Like _you_ said, neuro-whatever people try and hurt others before others can hurt them."

Hermione's mouth went dry, and for some reason a loose string of forest green silk became rather interesting.

_Merlin. _

In her entire life, no one she knew had ever done that to her before. Taken one of her arguments and turned it upside down in front of her face. Sirius Black came close during her third year when explaining the circumstances of how he came to he imprisoned in the Shrieking Shack, but _this _was so different.

_So personal._

She reluctantly admired her companion's wit.

_Don't let the long blond eyelashes and angular cheekbones fool you anymore; Draco Malfoy is clever wizard. _

"I think we can agree to disagree," she said swiftly, climbing off the bed to the side facing the adjacent wall, scooping up her adopted journal.

"Set, match," Malfoy said, and she could almost picture the smirk on his pointy face.

For some reason, the image of his troublesome grin was not as upsetting as it was when she pictured him a few weeks ago in her post-war nightmares.

Something below her stomach burned at the thought of someone outwitting her, yet she couldn't explain what or why that was.

.

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><p>.<p>

Things fell into an almost familiar pattern as days turned into weeks and June brought the warmest weather of the year.

Hermione was not allowed to partake in any of the new sunshine other than walking with Sonny about the grounds, but it was better than being locked inside completely.

In the mornings, she woke up, waited until she heard Draco's door slam as an indicator that he left for the Ministry before crawling out of bed and curling into Draco's love seat with a book. She figured if she was going to be stuck in the Manor for the time-being, she might as well make her way through the collection.

She showered around noon and pulled Narcissa's dress robes on, which were now enchanted to fit a few sizes smaller. Not perfect, but a start.

She would spend the rest of her day reading and writing, either on the bedroom floor or outside in the mid-summer heat, trying her best to preserve whatever shred of sanity she had left.

She told Sonny about all her adventures at Hogwarts, her parents, and about the countless things she learned from books.

She tried her best to keep her thoughts off Draco, but images of the blond wizard slipped into her mind during all hours of the day, even before his nightly visits to her bedroom.

What started off as an hour, which started at around eight at night, began to last longer and longer as the pair's heated conversations kept them throwing insults until past midnight on various occasions.

After work followed by dinner with his mother, he would find his way to her room where the bickering would begin, but it never again progressed to the point where he grabbed her. Though they would never admit it, they both liked it better this way.

Things were becoming, as strange as it sounded, almost _normal._ But they were not going to stay that way for long.

Because on one warm Friday night, Draco pulled open Hermione's bedroom door and wordlessly slipped into his corner next to the bookshelf, studying her profile with pursed lips. He had news.

As he drunk in her flushed cheeks and her eyes, which were concentrated on whatever book was tucked away in her lap, he felt that annoying yet inescapable feeling of connectedness and affection that he had been struggling to avoid since the night she tried to escape.

He scolded himself when he started indulging in these feelings, but inevitably he would find his way back to that hypnotizing weakness in his chest…back to_ her. _

He was caught between wanting to be connected to another person and wanting to be completely isolated from the world.

He hated it.

"Today's my birthday," he said, feeling a strange wave of satisfaction when she jolted in surprise, snapped the notebook shut, and threw it out of her lap as if it were covered in pus.

"Stop scaring me like that," she hissed, giving him a wary look from her spot on the ground.

"I said today is my birthday,"

"I heard you," she responded, shoving a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. Something burned in Draco's chest, and, for some reason, he wanted to see her do the simple action again. "What do you want me to do, throw a birthday party for you? These are not the best circumstances-"

"My mum gave me a present-"

"As parents tend to do on birthdays. Again, uninteresting-"

"I thought you would like to know because it involves you," he said quietly, watching her eyebrows rise in surprise.

"How so, may I ask?" her tone laced with disbelief.

"My parents have a cottage in the Scottish countryside. They let me have it – no, let me finish," he growled, squashing her approaching interruption. "And my mother seems to think it would be a good idea if we moved there, together, until…well, you know. And I kind of agree with her."

Hermione said nothing.

_He was doing it again. _

He was saying things in that completely earnest and sincere voice that made her feel almost forced to trust him. How was she supposed to resist him when he talked to her like_ that_? Like they were equals, like he could be trusted?

As disgusting as it was, she would follow him to the other side of the moon when he said things like that. When he talked to her as if blood was not a factor at all, as if she was not stuck here, and as if she was not his property.

It felt right.

But Hermione would never allow herself to say such frivolous things out loud.

"I mean, of course you can stay here with my mum if you like, but I think you would find it more _pleasant _if you got a change of scenery and all. You know, since this place probably has shitty memories and all."

He had thought about her and her wants?

_Odd. _

"I mean, it's just a thought," he rambled. "It doesn't mean anything. And it certainly doesn't change anything,"

But it did.

Draco stayed with her as he usually did that night, this time in silence as Hermione was engrossed with her own thoughts. She didn't feel like arguing.

It would be her and Draco, alone in a cottage. As miserable as the image was, something about it still seemed exciting and exhilarating. Considering the fact that her life had been reduced to a reality under the Malfoy's watchful eyes, the option of leaving the manor for the countryside seemed almost like a permanent vacation away from the misery that was Malfoy Manor.

If Voldemort was going to kill her, she didn't want him to do it here. Not within these walls.

It was the place in which she was tortured. The place where she awoke in the first days of her life without Ron and Harry. It was the place she had failed to escape.

Yet it was etched into her skin much like the prejudiced slur on her forearm. It was a permanent dark part of her history. Leaving symbolized a renewal.

The fact that Draco knew that made Hermione start to question some of her basic assumptions, including those revolving around her feelings about him. Anyone that _aware _of another human being was worthy of, at the very least, her admiration. Maybe more.

When Draco got up to leave several hours later, Hermione was pushed by some invisible force to do something so incredibly out of character.

"Hang on," she mumbled, and, much to her surprise, he stopped.

He raised his eyebrows and eyed her suspiciously.

" Um, Happy… Happy Birthday, Draco," she said. And she meant it.

She wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the firelight, but she thought she saw him smile before clicking the door shut.

.

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><p>.<p>

**Yaay! New chapter! So excited to hear your thoughts! **

**School has been the bitch from hell so sorry for the lateness! (I thought I would have time to write during Spring Break, but laziness took over). **

**I changed my summary as well because I realized most of this fic is DM-POV, so let me know if it is okay!**

**Thanks to **arosesinnocence for beta-ing! And for all my reviews so far! 200 plus story alerts and favorites. I am not worthy :,) ****

**-marrymealittle**


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